


Even in the Distance

by reyclou



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Complete, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 01:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 42,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3230678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reyclou/pseuds/reyclou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a tragic mission, the Atlantis team tries to figure out life without Sheppard. Elizabeth dreams about what could have been while Rodney tries to carry out Sheppard's last wishes. (Season 3-ish).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Yankee Bullet

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written in 2006, so it may not be the same quality as my newer fics. Title is borrowed from "In the Distance" by the Lost Dogs, which was a major inspiration for this story.

"Once again we have wasted another day barking up the wrong proverbial tree when we could have been doing something _useful_ back home in Atlantis," Dr. Rodney McKay moaned, hoisting his backpack a little higher up on his shoulders. His neck ached with the long day of hiking and he yearned to just drop his pack and stretch, but his current circumstances would not allow it, not if they wanted to make it to the gate by nightfall. Begrudgingly, Rodney mentally braced himself and plodded on through the tall-grass prairie land designated M45-895. "Tall-grass" was, perhaps, the proper classification for the landscape, but the planet's rainless summer season had wrought havoc on the plant life. The field grasses, which should have stood at least shoulder high on the stout physicist, barely tickled his kneecaps. Shoots of yellowed grasses crunched beneath his rugged boots. Rodney, careful to avoid anything that even remotely resembled poison ivy, deftly avoided a suspicious clump of leafy plants—or whatever intergalactic variant on which he saw fit to bestow the title.

"Ease up, McKay," replied Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, Air Force flyboy, as he and Teyla Emmagan, leader of the Athosian people, ambled ahead of him. John seemed almost at home in the dry heat, dark glasses shading his eyes from the setting sun, his dark hair mussed in rampant abandon. "We can't expect every first contact to go off without a hitch." He stooped to pluck a long grass and idly slid it between his teeth. Teyla glanced to the horizon as he did so, brown eyes searching for any signs of life. They had seen none in some time—that made the fine hairs on her caramel arms prickle in doubt. Ronon Dex, the giant Satedan runner—a man who had spent nigh the last decade on the run from human-hunters—and the newcomer to their team, strode up beside her, sharing her look of reservation.

Neither liked the open field, a wide expanse of land that offered little camouflage and no protection. While they could see anyone approaching their party long in advance, it was not so much a person on foot they feared. Their threats came from the sky.

The sun had already started its descent when the team started on their journey home—now it neared nightfall. Looking up, Rodney noted the Stargate still loomed above the flat plain at least a half mile away, its bold grey arc standing out against what light lingered in the cloudless sky. Tracing the horizon with his eyes, Rodney half expected to see covered wagons ambling their way across the plain. He intentionally stomped on a cluster of grasses, reveling in the domination of man over plant. Rodney tried to comfort himself in the fact that Atlantis lay just beyond the Ancient arc. It would be roughly breakfast time when they arrived and, after the day he'd had, he could eat the _proverbial_ horse.

"I think we passed 'hitch' and hit 'brick wall', Colonel." He spat back, blue eyes afire with frustration. "If these people had anything worth our time, they definitely aren't going to share." The inhabitants of 895 were cave dwellers. Literally. They had caves. They dwelled. They _dwelled_ in _caves_. Granted, their caves were artificial—more like overgrown storm cellars rooted beneath the flatland—but that seemed to give them too much credit. Not only had they staunchly denied his team any kind of audience, they'd shooed them out the door before they could even get their names out. Now Rodney wasn't exactly the team anthropologist, that was more Teyla's job, but even the Athosian had become a little frustrated with their reticence. "We've met some shy ones before," he continued. "But these guys are hermits to the core."

John pulled the black aviators away from his eyes, tucking them into a pouch on his vest. With the fading light, he had little need for sunglasses. "We knew they were isolationist before we even stepped through the gate, McKay. We always ran the chance that they wouldn't listen to a word we had to say."

Teyla shifted her hold on the submachine gun that hung from her vest, eyes covering the landscape in practiced sweeps. She often felt something of a sixth sense about danger, and today something just did not sit right. Too many things had fallen into place far too cleanly. "It concerns me that a people so secluded, a people who believe secrecy is their only defense against the Wraith, would let us come and go so freely. Would they not be afraid that we would report their location to others?"

While technologically superior to the rather simple people of 895, their enemy—life-sucking terrors known as the Wraith—still relied heavily on sensor technology. This technology could be fooled by thick bedrock, or so it seemed. Another civilization, the Genii, constructed similar underground structures and, in doing so, saved nearly their entire population from the hands of the Wraith. It was not until John and Rodney stumbled upon an entrance to one of their underground bunkers that anyone knew the true face of the Genii people.

John nodded, pulling the grass from his mouth. "It does feel a little odd. Without a MALP, a life sign detector, and the hybrid Asgard technology aboard the _Daedalus_ , we would never have known anyone was here in the first place."

Rodney overstepped another suspicious-looking patch of vegetation, half wishing he could just float the rest of the way to the gate. "Maybe the P-90's gave them pause for thought," he muttered.

"Yeah, maybe," the colonel whispered, eyeing the field with renewed concern. He had seen no one since they had left the underground village a ways back and he found the absence a little unnerving. They had not been escorted back to the Gate, nor had he seen so much as a single scout sent to witness their departure. No one. Nothing.

Inwardly, Sheppard kicked himself. He'd only agreed to forego the Jumper and its cloaking technology on this mission out of concern for the locals. Their recon intel had revealed a nervous, secretive people—a people likely easily frightened by things beyond their understanding. Jumpers—tubular space faring transports small enough to fit through a Stargate—were definitely far beyond them. In addition, most of the civilizations they had met had never seen a flying vessel that was not piloted by the Wraith. These people, it seemed, didn't care to mark a difference. To them, _anything_ that came through the Stargate was bad news, with or without a ship. Now, amid the featureless landscape of 895, John would have given anything to disappear from sight, though he did not regret his decision.

Until, that is, he caught sight of bright fireballs hurtling through the darkened heavens.

"Get down!" John shouted, motioning his team to the ground. Rodney moved to dash forward into the safety of numbers, but his foot caught in the hidden entrance of a rodent hole. A sharp pain shot through his ankle and, with a stifled cry, Rodney hit the dirt. Waves of intense heat rippled across his back, drawing out sweat at its searing touch. The impacts threw dirt and smoke into the air, making it hard to breathe. Yet no sooner had he felt the alien earth pelt him across the back, Rodney heard John already back on his feet and shouting orders.

"Up! Up!" he commanded, pulling Teyla to her feet. He half flung her toward the Ancient ring. "Dial it up!"

Rodney felt hands pulling him upright, but his ankle could not hold the weight of his person. His leg buckled and the scientist once again hit the ground. He tried to choke back a cry as ripples of pain coursed through his leg. "My ankle," he gasped, leaning up on his elbows, sweat trickling from his brow.

John tugged the looming Satedan to Rodney's side. "Ronon, help him," the colonel barked, slapping a hand on the runner's back. Wordlessly, Ronon shifted to give Rodney his shoulder. Rodney spared a frantic glance to the gate as he leaned on Ronon for support, hooking an arm around the man's thick neck.

"It's still a half mile away!" he blurted.

"McKay, have you ever been in a brush fire?" John harped, pointing toward the two heaps of flame that flickered a scant dozen yards away. Already they could hear the crackling cackle of dry grasses consumed by flames. A scorched smell passed with a gust of wind. "This place hasn't seen rain in weeks. Once those fires catch big time, it'll burn faster than you can run. Now _move it_!"

Rodney opened his mouth to protest, but it went dry as he spotted two more shooting flames speeding against the night sky—straight from the settlement. Taking velocity and trajectory into account, he arrived at the succinct conclusion that he was utterly screwed. Without a moment's hesitation, Ronon pulled him toward the Gate. They made an odd couple, Rodney hobbling and Ronon charging full tilt. Before long, the Satedan lifted him off the ground entirely, pulling the injured scientist along like a whining child. John followed close behind, and the foursome scrambled through the brambles and dying grasses, avoiding the fiery attacks—sometimes by mere strides. True to the colonel's word, the flames lit up the parched landscape, the fires spreading wildly in the pressing wind. The weather, it seemed, was not in their favor.

Teyla stumbled for the DHD, the alien control console that worked the Gate. She quickly dialed in the address home, away from the raging fires. Ash and sparks drifted through the boiling air. Ronon barely hesitated as the gush of a wormhole event horizon burst out of the gate before him like a huge plume of bubbling water. He knew as well as any that to touch a forming wormhole meant instant death, but he pulled the smaller man along with him none the less. With a loud slurp, the plum snapped back into the ring, leaving a standing pool of glittering bright behind. John paused beside Teyla as she input a code into a device on her arm, his gun readied to defend against any poor soul who might charge through the blaze. If she did not transmit the proper code, the shield protecting the home side of the Stargate would not lower, their de-molecularized bodies would slam into its unforgiving sentry, and none of them would live to see the other side. His eyes panned the skies again, catching two distant sparks in the air.

Instant dissimilation or death by rampaging destruction.

Choices.

"Incoming!" John shouted.

Rodney caught only a short glimpse behind him as the Satedan giant half-carried him up to the shimmering pool. Teyla scrambled around the Ancient Device, dashing for the Stargate. Blazing balls swept through the night, glowing brighter as they sped toward the frightened team. Sacks of flame roared over the colonel's head. He dove to tackle Teyla out of their path.

Too late. The two dark forms dissolved into a sudden explosion of light and fury.

"No!" Rodney screamed, fighting against Ronon's iron grip, but no matter how hard he lunged or squirmed, he could not break free. The Satedan hauled Rodney the last desperate steps to the event horizon. Rodney glanced back, hoping to catch some sliver of hope, some sign of life amid the smoke and terror, but he saw only rage. Suddenly, flames took his vision, white light surrounded him, and he fell into the waiting void of the wormhole home.

oOo

Dr. Carson Beckett, Chief Medical Officer of the Atlantis Expedition, tugged a lab coat over his shoulders as he strode down the Lantean corridor. The hallway, crowded with the morning breakfast rush, funneled most of the traffic back toward the commissary. Carson, however, moved against the flow, working his way toward the Control Center. Captain Crawford's team, sent to meet and negotiate a preliminary trade agreement with one of Teyla's contacts, was due back in less than an hour and Carson had yet to prepare his lab for the routine, post-mission health checks. But first, he needed to see Elizabeth about his supply request. With all the new personnel constantly flowing into the city, not to mention the host of refugees to which he provided medical aid, he had hoped the higher-ups would have recognized the needs of the ever growing Atlantis infirmary. Instead, he had to fight tooth and nail for every drop of vaccine not intended for a military vein.

"Bloody budgets," he huffed to himself. "It's always about the money."

A transport chamber opened just a few feet in front of him. Carson caught sight of dark curls as the familiar slender form of Dr. Elizabeth Weir, diplomat and unquestioned leader of their expedition, stepped out of the Ancient device and turned for the Control Room.

"Dr. Weir!" he called, hastening to catch up with her. His voice caught her attention and Elizabeth paused until the Scotsman came to her side. The two continued down the hall, walking shoulder to shoulder.

"Morning, Carson," she greeted.

"Aye, mornin'," he followed, trying to pick out the right words to bring up his request form. He didn't want to jump right into it this early, but he didn't really have the time to talk. He suspected she didn't either. " Elizabeth, I was wondering if you had a chance to…" he began, but a quick flash in her eyes cut him short. He knew that look all too well—the look that said something important had just broadcast over the city radio. She lifted a hand to politely ask his patience, and then lifted the other to her earpiece headset. Carson fumbled for his own earpiece, which currently hung limply over his shoulder. He hated wearing the litter bugger, it always poked his ear in just the wrong place, but it was times like this when they had to trade comfort for communication. He slid the tiny headset into place just in time to hear two dreaded words.

_"Incoming wormhole."_

Wordlessly, the two friends shared a look, and then dashed the rest of the way to the Control Room. Carson pushed all thoughts of budgets and supply requests from his mind. Somehow, he didn't think he'd get around to that lab prep either.

oOo

Elizabeth scrambled into the Control Room overlooking the active Stargate just as a small battalion of soldiers crouched into their defensive positions, weapons trained on the standing pool of water that was not water. A white film of energy, the gate shield, stretched across the expanse of the blue wormhole.

"IDC?" she questioned the tech staff attending the gate controls.

"It's Teyla, m'am," replied a short communications officer. Nodding, Elizabeth gave the order to drop the shield. The translucent film fizzled and dissolved not a moment too soon. She hid a gasp as two forms stumbled through the liquid-like transport, just missing the shield by mere milliseconds. Rodney McKay, battered and sweaty, leaned on Ronon like a crutch. His eyes, however, remained intently—even fearfully—glued to the Gate behind them. Panting, Ronon urged him ahead. The scientist obliged, looking back at the gleaming blue. The runner looked tired, sweat soaked, and caked in dirt. He waited until several members of the medical staff pulled the Canadian away before he bent to catch his breath.

"My god, what happened?" Elizabeth asked, bypassing the control deck and scrambling down the lighted stairs, Carson hot on her heels. Rodney struggled away from the prodding hands of the medical techs, even as they guided him toward an arriving gurney.

"I'm fine!" he snipped to the nurses at his side, then limped forward in a vain attempt to close the distance between him and the dark-haired woman. He winced, teetering on his good leg, but Carson caught his arm before Rodney lost all control of his balance. Carson motioned the other nurses away from the scientist. They stepped back obediently, but hovered just out of Rodney's reach, ready to assist should he topple completely.

"Catapults," Rodney mumbled to a confused audience. "They must have hidden catapults underground," his voice turned sharp as he muttered to himself. "Damn it! How could we be so stupid? Of course they wouldn't just let us walk away."

Elizabeth's green eyes flickered with worry and confusion. "What was that, Rodney?" she set a gentle hand on his other shoulder. "Tell us what happened."

Rodney sputtered frantically, words spewing from his lips before he could put them in proper order. "We were there and we were in a field and we were running and then it all caught fire and…"

"Rodney, slow down," Elizabeth calmed, glancing to the weary Runner before returning her eyes back to the physicist. She tried to look him in the eye, but he seemed too far gone. Red, listless eyes stared back at her. "I need you to tell me what happened." She continued, her voice slowing as she pressed her question. "Where are Colonel Sheppard and Teyla?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you!" Something akin to tears shone in Rodney's eyes. His breaths grew heavy, his own anxiety sapping his strength. "There was a fire and we were running and then…" Rodney's eyes widened wildly. "Oh my god, we have to go back!" He turned as if to run back through the Gate. Carson's staff converged on him, struggling to hold him back. They found the task surprisingly difficult. "We can't just leave them behind, the whole field will burn to ash!"

"Calm down, McKay," Carson replied, doing his best to enforce a reassuring tone while he struggled with the shorter man. "The Gate is still open, they'll make it through if they can."

Rodney whimpered as his struggles grew weaker. "No… No… You don't understand—the last one hit… hit…" he trailed off, not wanting to finish his dismal sentence.

Elizabeth's eyes widened at the unspoken tragedy. "Sergeant!" She called up to the control deck, willing her eyes away from the scientist. She was not going to let the sudden chill in her gut steal her command away. "We still have a MALP out there; get me a reading—now!" Above them, a young airman with short cropped hair nodded and moved to fulfill her orders. Without thinking, Elizabeth pulled a blocky hand radio from Rodney's vest before he consented to the gurney and the henpecking of the medical staff. She caught Carson's bright blue eyes with her own. "Take care of him, Carson," she whispered before clicking the radio to life. The doctor nodded and moved away with his staff as she raised the black box to her lips.

"Colonel Sheppard? Teyla?" she called into its face. "This is Weir, what's your status?"

Elizabeth lifted her finger from the talk button, calmly waiting for a reply, but none came. After a time, she tried again. "Sheppard. Teyla. Come in, _please_."

Nothing but static met her voice.

"Doctor," the sergeant called back, jarring her attention from the heavy radio. "I have MALP readings coming in now," he looked to the screen before him with a note of hesitation. "We're reading an inferno on the other side."

A sour trickle tightened the back of Elizabeth's throat. Two of her people were stuck Gate-side in a raging fire. She needed _options_. She needed to take command. She needed to do something—anything to keep her mind off biting flames and roaring destruction. "Keep an eye on it; I want a rescue team ready to head out as soon as the danger dies down. Contact Major Lorne, get his team and a Jumper prepped for escort. Assemble a burn unit and get them whatever supplies they need. If the Colonel and Teyla…" she stopped short, unsure she knew how to continue. She honestly didn't know what she was sending them into, or what she was sending them after. All she knew was that she couldn't admit defeat. Not yet. She cleared her throat. "If the Colonel and Teyla are injured, they're going to need all the help they can get."

A few of the scientists up on the control deck stared solemnly at the Stargate, wincing slightly as the blue-white light suddenly warped, swallowed back into nothingness. Elizabeth shut the device, the doorway, out of her mind. She concentrated on barking order after order. She needed to feel in control of the situation, to feel she could do something to bring her people home. Her crew, selfless as they were, needed leadership—someone who could take the responsibility out of their hands. Elizabeth closed her eyes and breathed away the knots in her stomach, letting the inner cold steel her resolve. The true struggle had only just begun.


	2. Song of Sorrow

A soft whining sound echoed through the massive Jumper bay as Jumper Three settled on the bay floor, announcing its return from a dismal duty. The copper-brown body of the craft was darkened by a layer of blackened soot; even the vessel's wide windshield looked hopelessly filthy from flying through smoke and airborne grime. The rear hatch cracked open even before the craft came to a full rest, small avalanches of powdery ash spilling from the widening doorway. Elizabeth and a team of medical staff took a cautious step back as the short ramp fell into place, sending a cloud of fine debris wafting over the audience. Instinctively, hands covered mouths in vain attempt to keep from breathing in the vile stuff. The bright eyed woman, however, straightened against the cloud.

While they wasted little time in assembling a rescue team fit for fire duty, the intense fire had burned much longer than the control team had anticipated. Such fires could blaze for hours, as this one had done and then some. The flames danced and stormed across the landscape well into the night. Lorne's team, willing to risk personal safety for quick salvation, sped back through the gate within the hour of Rodney and Ronon's frazzled return. The brilliant light of the widespread fire gave them light enough to search by, but the fresh desolation of scalding ash did not ease their burden. Teams had to wade through burnt brush, careful to avoid hot spots, pulling back when the wind threatened to bring the fire down on them. Things looked up when the fist limb of the search revealed no bodies within the immediate area around the Gate, yet as the search dragged on through the 895 night, spirits began to sink. They found a shallow river a short distance from the Gate, but it looked as though the fire had already come and gone. If Teyla and John had been there, no sign of them remained. With the aid of the Jumper, Lorne's team easily searched the area of land two people could have run given the conditions, but even flying just above the smoldering wreckage, they found nothing but the unforgiving wrath of nature—at least, until the sun found the dejected team on the native's doorstep.

"Welcome back," Elizabeth greeted as Major Lorne stepped down out of the bowls of the small vessel. Streaks of dirt and ash covered his clothes. Where wrinkles creased his youthful face, pale lines stood out against his blackened skin. Soot caked his hair, brown locks in desperate need of both a shower and a comb. If Elizabeth had not known better, she would have thought he was a fireman, though she did not know any fireman who carried military issue submachine guns strapped to their chest. Lorne returned her hail with an empty look in his blue eyes, as if he hand not heard her. Nervous, Elizabeth frowned at his hollow eyes. Lorne had a teddy-like quality about him, a boyish charm that never failed even in times of uncertain doom. He always tried to laugh off aggression, yet met it with no less determination, but that man was nowhere to be seen. The airman before her seemed a grizzled mockery of the amiable Major Lorne—beaten, battered, defeated. "…it's good to have you back, Major."

Lorne looked away before he responded with a soft, "Yeah," and nothing more. His broad shoulders slouched in dismay, he strode away in search of a doctor and the hottest shower he could find. Elizabeth's frown deepened before her eyes turned once again to the Jumper. She breathed a sigh of contented relief when, out of the dark of the ship, emerged a ruffled, filthy, but breathing Teyla Emmagan, a blanket wrapped around her dirtied shoulders. Her hair, which at one point had been pulled back in a tight ponytail, now hung in a limp, matted mess of dirt and sweat. Elizabeth ignored the smell of scorched hair, noting burns on the woman's arms and streaks of black where flames had licked her smooth features. Her wounds appeared to be nothing gravely serious, but they were wounds that would take time and great pain to heal properly. Yet still, Teyla, ever the example of grace in chaos, held her head to a noble height.

"Oh my, Teyla!" Elizabeth rushed forward, offering the other woman a loose hug—careful not to aggravate unseen burns. Teyla accepted the embrace. "Are you okay?" she asked as she pulled away, studying where tears and sweat had cleared trails down Teyla's bronze skin. What trials the younger woman had faced off-world had not been a happy experience. The phrase "hell and back again" came to Elizabeth's mind. She did not think she truly understood those words until that moment.

Teyla nodded gracefully, if absently, brown doe-eyes looking lost but appreciative. "I am fine, Dr. Weir. Our captors did no further harm to me."

"Captors?" Elizabeth exclaimed. "You were captured?"

"It is a long and difficult story, Doctor," Teyla sighed, weariness in both her eyes and her tone. "The natives found us shortly after the fires broke out. They took us back to their village, intending to hold us there, but I believe they had a change of heart with they saw the Jumper."

Elizabeth nodded, relieved that their long search was over at last. _She said 'our' release._ Elizabeth thought, elation coursing through her. _So Lorne found them both, thank God! We can put all this miserable business behind us!_ Relief flooding her being, Elizabeth again straightened. "And Colonel Sheppard? How is he?" she asked, wondering why John had not been the first off the Jumper. If she knew him at all, he would be itching for a shower and a good night's sleep in his own bed.

Teyla's shoulders sagged, though she held strong to the resolve years as leader of her village had beaten into her. She took a moment to collect worried thoughts. Something sunk in Elizabeth's gut, but she patiently waited for the woman to continue. Teyla's eyes darted away for just a moment as she settled on her words. When her reply came, it came cool, practiced, but disheartened.

"Fear was not the sole factor in their decision to release us, Dr. Weir," the Athosian swayed out of weariness, the saddest of words easily slipped from her lips—like poetry. "We were allowed to depart on humanitarian grounds; to care for our wounded," her eyes fell and Teyla turned her head away from Elizabeth—downward, as if ashamed of her report, "And our dead."

Green eyes darkened in confusion. "Dead?" Elizabeth whispered, just as another procession started down the short ramp of the Lantean Jumper. Carson walked at the head of a gurney, carefully guiding its precious cargo down to the Lantean bay. Like a father loosing his child, the doctor fought with all the ferocity in his heart to keep his patients alive and kicking, but when he lost that battle, Carson became quiet, morose, almost peaceful in his sorrow. Two nurses brought up the other end. Carson did not speak a single word as he descended the ramp. Indeed, no one made a sound as the somber scene unfolded before them. A black body bag lay on the gurney, the body within of tall height and noble stature. While the layers of polyethylene obscured the body's features, the wells of pain in Carson's eyes told all that he could not say.

John Sheppard was not coming home.

"No…" she whispered, moving to intercept the gurney. Carson held out caring arms to stop her, taking her by the elbow and guiding her away from the grim reality laid out for all to see. The two nurses took over, moving the gurney.

"No, love," He cooed in his calm Scottish brogue. "You don't want to remember him like this. Leave it to us, now."

The cold feeling in her gut shot straight to her throat and Elizabeth lost the ability to speak. This just could not be happening. It had to be some kind of mistake—a trick, a prank—but no one laughed as the nurses wheeled on toward the infirmary—no, the morgue. How could this be? Teyla seemed fine, for all intents, but that thought left her mind almost before it arrived. She knew why. Teyla lived because of John, he had saved her.

He had died saving her.

As much as she wanted to push past Carson and run after the solemn team, she feared her legs would give out if she tried to move. Teyla put a comforting hand to her shoulder, lending her own strength in solidarity. Elizabeth wanted to acknowledge her—nod, smile, speak, _anything_ —but she could do nothing but stand there, utterly shattered as the cart wheeled John away.

oOo

Elizabeth stared at the hands folded in her lap. They no longer seemed to be a part of her. They moved in a way foreign to her, looked ever so different, so _old_. She found a spot on her left hand that she had never noticed before, just between the two knuckles of her thumb. These had to be someone else's hands tucked neatly into each other—someone else's wrinkles, someone else's nails, someone else's life. Ever since Carson wheeled out that black bag on a silver stretcher, she just could not accept this turn in her life. Maybe she was still in bed, fast asleep. Any moment, she would jolt back to consciousness to find John trying to squish pennies in the sliding doors—or maybe she would find him kicking back in the common room. She wished she would wake up to some blaring klaxon and some urgent problem.

But not this. No, not this.

Not the briefing she had feared since she first recognized John as the military commander of Atlantis—the briefing in which she would force his team, his compatriots, to explain the intricacies of his demise. She would have to listen, have to file a report—a long drawn out report with forms and high speech. She would have to say things, distant things, things leaders said about their fallen subordinates. Some would be kind and truthful, others would be cold and decisive—things she had to say to put this all behind her, to do what was best for the city, to do what would please the military.

Lorne would take over, at least for now. It wasn't that she had anything against the young major, she rather liked the man, but the military would not leave him in charge for long. They'd want someone older, wiser than and as far removed from John Sheppard as they could find. If they didn't reassign Caldwell, the man they had originally picked to replace her first military commander—Colonel Sumner—they would find someone else, someone with medals, grey hair, and a dismal attitude. They would send her another Sumner, another Everett, someone who could take John's job, but never John's place. On paper, they would have a replacement, but no one they could send would ever live up to _him_. No, that void would remain for a long, long time.

Elizabeth stretched the hands that were not her own and looked up to meet the somber faces of Sheppard's team, joined by Major Lorne and Dr. Beckett, in the circular conference room. Rodney stared at the edge of the conference table. Redness circled his eyes as automatic doors swung closed around them, sealing their voices from the public. Ronon, stoic and emotionless as ever, slumped idly in his chair, looking to the others but never keeping eye contact long enough to convey any sense of his thoughts. Major Lorne's shower had done little to brighten his spirits, and the now unspoken mantle of ranking military officer weighed heavily on his broad shoulders. Carson—while quite familiar with death, yet still innately sensitive to it—took his time fiddling with his tablet, drawing up charts and signing off on this and that. Finally, Teyla sat gracefully perched at the edge of her seat. Having cried all her bitter tears in private, she sat still and silent, ready to perform he solemn duty to report the last gasping breaths of one Colonel John Sheppard.

"What happened, Teyla?" Elizabeth asked in a voice little more than a whisper. She tried to instill strength in her spine, telling herself this was no different than any other mission wherein they had lost valuable personnel—no man or woman on this expedition was any less important than the next—though, somehow, she could not bring herself to believe it.

"As we have discussed, these are a reclusive people," Teyla began, as if to defend their ways. "They believe their ability to hide and the secrecy of their existence saves them from the Wraith. Indeed, their underground shelters have saved them in the past. While they refused all attempts at negotiations, they allowed us to leave without incident. At the time, we did not think them to be a violent people," the woman slowly glanced to the Canadian scientist and the two shared a look of sorrow. When he broke eye contact, returning his sad attention back to the table, she directed her speech back to Elizabeth. "At first, we thought them merely frightened of our technological superiority, many worlds are wary of weapons such as ours. However, I think now that it may have been an act to lure us into a false confidence, so as to take us by surprise. I believe that they thought it would be easier to dispose of us if they did not fight us face to face."

Elizabeth clamped down on the sore spot in the back of her throat. She was _not_ going to cry. This. Was. No. Different.

"Scorched earth," Rodney mumbled, rubbing at the edge of the table with his thumb.

Ronon raised a suspicious brow, looking between Elizabeth and Rodney. "Scorched earth?"

"A military policy famously employed by the Russians during the Napoleonic Wars," replied the physicist. Some faint sense of confidence returned to him with the chance to recite from his mental encyclopedia. "The Russians could not face the invading French forces head on, so they fell into an organized retreat wherein they burned every city and every crop in Napoleon's path. The French army eventually captured Moscow, but the harsh northern winter took them by storm—literally. Robbed of a reliable food supply and unused to the cold climate, Napoleon's men fell to the hunger and the cold." Rodney's smile held no humor.

The Satedan stared at him with unblinking eyes. Major Lorne pointedly cleared his throat. "I think the point Dr. McKay is trying to make is that natural forces turned the tide of a war," he scratched the side of his head. "I think the same principle applies here. The natives couldn't take you on their own, so they torched the field hoping that would take care of the problem."

"And it almost succeeded," Teyla conceded softly. "The last ball of fire struck just before the Gate. Colonel Sheppard covered me when it struck ground, though he suffered grave injuries for it," she paused a moment, swallowing her words. "The fire cut us off from the Stargate. With the inferno closing in on us and only moments to act, we had no choice but to run as far as we could," her eyes dropped lower. "It was difficult work for him but we made it to a small stream that divided the field. It had dried considerably in the sparse rain. With the wind in our favor, I set a counter fire to burn away from us, keeping the greater fire at bay. It was by that fire that the natives found us. I knew that, with Colonel Sheppard as he was, I could not fight both them and the fires, so we surrendered and were taken back to their underground village. I think when they saw what they had done to the colonel up close… it changed them in some way. They took pity on him and did what they could with what they had, but…" her eyes fell again, dropping to the hands folded in her lap. Elizabeth wondered if Teyla recognized her own hands. "He looked so desperate, so _tortured_ ," she coughed out her words, insistent they be heard yet unwilling to speak their truth. "His skin—burned, raw, and swelling—then the light in his eyes just…" she trailed off into harsh coughing. The team waited patiently as she gathered her composure. The smoke on 895 had been thick; Carson had all but explained what that could have done to her throat with its caustic breath. Teyla sniffed as her gaze returned to Elizabeth, that same noble determination in her watery eyes. "By the time Major Lorne's team found the encampment at daylight—he was gone."

No one dared speak for a sacred moment. No one dared make eye contact for fear they would impinge on something personal, something fragile. Each fell to his own memories, his own mourning.

Carson whispered a weak agreement. "Aye," he added, his voice gaining strength as he tried to explain what had happened to the pilot in the only way he understood. He studied his tablet, as if reciting a prepared speech. "According to my preliminary observations, third degree burns over much of his body all but destroyed his nervous system, weakened his defenses and circulatory systems. Added to that, the consistency of the smoke in the air ripped up his lungs and throat, the heat of which caused severe…" Carson's voice faded. The tablet slipped from his fingers. Frustrated, he clenched his eyes shut at his own lack of willpower. "Oh, I can't do this," he hissed. "It was incredibly painful— _inhumane_ , if you ask me. Forgive me for stating it so coldly, but it is what it is. In that light, was merciful that he…" Carson cut himself off, realizing the harshness in what he was about to say. He pulled blue eyes away from Elizabeth, breathing deeply to cool his reddening cheeks.

"They let us return with him, against their better judgment," Teyla returned. "Perhaps, that is something." Elizabeth knew by the flickering pain in Teyla's eyes that she mourned for both the colonel and his murderers.

Lorne shook his head and sat forward. "Anyone else think they did that just so we wouldn't accidentally toss a nuke back through the Gate?" Ronon grunted something that sounded like an approval. Promptly, the major turned to Rodney. "We _can_ still do that, can't we?"

Rodney straightened and opened his mouth to answer, but Elizabeth cut him off. "Enough, Major," she pressed, before turning to medical doctor and the Athosian leader, respectively. "Thank you, Carson. Thank you, Teyla. This has been one of the hardest a days I think we have ever had to face. John is… was… a good man, and a good friend. He did not deserve this," her green eyes settled on the airman. "Nor do I think it would honor his memory to retaliate. If these _people_ want their solitude so badly, then they shall have it. We will not offer them trade, nor will we make any effort to contact them again," her gaze lingered on Major Lorne until he acknowledged her with a half-hearted nod of his head. "Now, I think it would be best if you all took some time off to recoup and get your thoughts together. Please, take whatever time you need."

The others slowly nodded their consent before moving to take their leave. Elizabeth gathered her things quickly, a sharp yet hollow authority to her movements. She snatched up her tablet, rose and strode out of the conference room with hardly a look to the rest of John's team. She did not mean to be rude or callous; she just _had_ to get out of there, away from the confrontation, away from reality. Away.

She promised herself she wouldn't cry when she reached her office. She would set down her tablet, draw up the proper papers, and dive in. She would say what she had to say to please who she had to please without showing any hint of how weak she felt on the inside. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered when she had lost the ability to lie to herself.


	3. Sing Thee to Thy Rest

McKay tapped his stylus impatiently while waiting for his stupid—no, _moronic_ —tablet laptop to crunch a few simple trigonometric scenarios. He sat at a lab table in the main science lab, subject to the grating frustrations masquerading as his top notch science team. Several of them milled about the room, apparently trying to see precisely how many annoying habits they could collectively produce before Rodney lost it entirely. Obviously no one had mention to Dr. Zimmer, the young German who just transferred into the program last month, that chewing bubblegum while calculating the long term viability of the Jumper's cloak as used as a shield was not only professionally distasteful, but just plain irritating—especially since Zimmer was one of those open-mouth chewers. The smacking of Zimmer's cheeks drowned out McKay's keystrokes, but that wasn't the least of it. Dr. Kim worked studiously at her bacteria cultures, if 'studiously' meant clinking the Petri dishes like they were wedding glasses. Did the woman know the meaning of the word 'cautious'?

Sighing in aggravation, Rodney would have happily retreated to his own lab, save that an untimely chemical reaction had coated everything in his little alcove with a gooey, frosting-like substance. It was not particularly harmful in any way, at least he was pretty sure it was not harmful, it just made getting around his lab a little difficult. Until he could figure out a compound that could dissolve the icky layer of nasty, he had to make do with economy class. He tried to tell himself he wasn't embarrassed. It had been a simple mistranslation of the Ancient text he referenced, that was all. It wasn't like he was Dr. Jackson or anything. Besides, he would have had it completely under control if Colonel Sheppard hadn't come in at exactly the wrong moment and…

Rodney shook himself away from thoughts of the late colonel. He needed to concentrate on something stable—something logical—and that meant science. _If only this good for nothing paperweight would pull some weight around here!_

His other foot—his good foot—jittered slightly, idly kicking at the lowest bar on the stool beneath him. He subconsciously timed it with the low chirping sound his computer made when he gave it just a little too much to think about. He groaned as he checked the computation status.

Sure enough, the damn thing had crashed.

Frustrated, Rodney slammed the monitor down over the keyboard with a resounding thwack, but the ferocity of the action did little to settle his nerves. _Piece of freaking junk doesn't deserve to live,_ he hissed to himself. Inspired by that thought, he scooped up the silver Dell and chucked it hard, with reckless abandon as to where it landed. Dr. Zimmer hit the deck to avoid the overdeveloped calculator, cover his head as the plastic smashed against the Lantean architecture, spraying apart in an explosion of circuitry. Zimmer, scrambling back to his feet, stared back at Rodney with fear in his grey eyes. Glass shattered as Dr. Kim dropped a Petri dish. The other inhabitants of the lab suddenly stood shocked still, afraid to move lest they incur a similar wrath. Rodney McKay had a temper, of that they were aware, but never before had he displayed such _violence_.

Rodney slid off his stool with a grunt. His bandaged foot, clunky and throbbing, caught on the stool as he tried to step away. That trip up cost the science lab another stool. Rodney kicked the offending furniture to the side, where it flipped and tumbled over into a metal shelving unit stocked with scientific instruments. The whole contraption came crashing to the floor, sending down an avalanche of sensitive electronic components. Several blinking hard-drives skittered across the lab floor. Letting out a disgruntled snort, Rodney stepped over the wreckage. "Nothing works around here," he sneered, striding for the door. When the doors shut on his limping figure, no one dared call after him.

oOo

Carson slipped an electronic notepad into the pocket of his lab coat as he glided through the double doors that opened into Elizabeth's office. It neared evening now and he hoped the woman had left for her quarters already, but he knew there was about a snowball's chance in Hell that was going to happen. Elizabeth looked up from her work, quickly blotting hands at reddened eyes as she straightened to a dignified position. She crumpled up her tissue and tossed it into a small waste bin, where it found plenty of company. Carson shot her a sorrowful, but comforting smile. A brave woman sat before him, he knew that to be true, through and through. If the Scotsman saw her smudged eye makeup, he made no mention of it.

"Elizabeth," he greeted softly, coming to a stop before her desk. "I don't mean to disturb you, but I need a decision."

She leaned forward on her elbows, pushing her laptop to the side. "On?"

"What to do about the…" Carson's voice trailed off. _Body_ was too harsh a word for too noble a man. "About the Colonel? I know it's been less than a day," the medical officer bit his lower lip. He had to ask similar things of countless people in his day, even before coming to Atlantis. Different burial rites required different preparations, he knew that. In fact, he accepted that as part of his job. But somehow, when it came down to someone you knew, the whole process seemed hollow, unreal. "I assumed you'd be wantin' a memorial service or a wake of some kind?"

Elizabeth nodded slowly, rubbing her arms as she sat back. The life support systems kept the city at a moderate room temperature, but this night seemed colder than usual. "Yes, I was just thinking about what we could do for a memorial, though I can't say the thoughts have been entirely pleasant."

Carson leaned a little of his weight against the chairs set opposite Elizabeth's desk, chairs intended for visitors. They hadn't seen much use in the last few hours. "Aye. I don't suppose he has much in the way of family back home?" the doctor questioned.

The dark haired woman shook her head in dissent, tousled curls hanging limply from her head. "No," she answered. "None that we've been able to track down, anyway. I'm sure the military has provisions for his burial."

"I figured as much," Carson sighed. He had known that much before he had even left the infirmary. Most of their deceased were cremated, or sent home in a cold box as per their wishes, but those were men with someone to go home to. Somehow, he did not believe Sheppard would ever return to Earth, even for his own funeral. Even now, he belonged in Atlantis; they just had to find a place to honor him. "All genetic concerns aside," he added. "We can't just leave him lying in the morgue."

"Teyla has already offered a plot of land on behalf of the Athosians," Elizabeth's eyes seemed to soften at the thought. A wistful smile came to her lips. "They have always held him in the highest regard," she paused for a moment, thinking on the people who were so different from her own culture, and yet so much the same. "She says there is a peak with a cool sea breeze and soft green grass that juts out over the ocean. I've been there myself once. On a clear day you can see Atlantis floating on the horizon. It must look positively gorgeous at sunset."

The kindly man smiled at her description, envisioning auburn sunlight fading to cobalt, silver-white stars shining in the night. "It sounds lovely," he replied gently, though her brow still furrowed in concern. He tilted his head to the side. "Is something else wrong, Elizabeth?"

"No, no," she responded quickly, not wanting to cast disdain on the Athosian offer. "It's a gracious gesture, it's just…" she trailed off again, eyes growing distant. She bit her lip and turned her gaze to her hands. "John's a pilot," she confessed after a time. "He belongs in the sky."

Carson looked off as he considered her words. "I think I know where you're going with this," he thought for a moment. "Aye, a space burial seems fitting, after all this."

"We've received pods via Puddle Jumper before," she thought out loud. "It wouldn't take much to launch one, though I'll need to talk to Lorne and Radek, of course."

"Dr. Zelenka?" questioned Carson. "Why not McKay? I'd think he'd like to do one last thing for the colonel, considering they were teammates and all."

"Yes, I know," Elizabeth returned with a light sigh. "I'd ask Rodney, but he seems to be a little… out of sorts. Understandably so, really," she defended. "Still, I think it'd be best to let Radek handle this one. He wasn't as close, but I think he has a clearer head at the moment."

Carson didn't try to argue. Rodney hadn't been himself since the mission. He'd kept quietly to himself, for the most part, but lashed out at anyone who spoke to him—even Teyla and Elizabeth. The doctor knew Rodney had barely eaten a thing since his return—dangerous for anyone, much less a hypoglycemic. The man was liable to catch a coma. "Ye might be right on that one, Lass. You'd have to search pretty far to find someone in this base who hasn't been touched in some way," Carson lowered his voice, leaning in toward the woman. "Though, if a doctor's opinion is worth anything, I'd say ye should take a little of your own advice. Ye shouldn't be working so hard after what ye just went through. Working yourself to death isn't going to bring him back, ye know."

Elizabeth wiped her eyes with ivory hands, trying to stifle an ill-timed yawn. "I don't have the luxury of taking the day off, Carson, and you're as much of a workaholic as any of us," she met his knowing look with another sheepish yawn. "But you're right," she conceded. "I could use a break."

"Just so long as that break keeps you outta this office for a few solid hours."

"All right, Carson," Elizabeth couldn't help but smile a little at how the man looked out for her, tirelessly. "I get your drift. I'll just finish up here," Elizabeth's smile brought a smile to the CMO. She tried to remember the last time she had laughed. It had felt like years, and yet, it had only been a mere day or two since she had seen their lead team off. "Maybe a nice stroll along the pier will help to clear my head."

"Good, Lass," Carson nodded. "I'm on me way out, too," he rose to his full height, smoothing the white of his coat. He half felt like he would fall over if he didn't crawl in bed soon. "You know who to call if you need something to help you sleep, aye?"

Elizabeth slid her slim laptop to a comfortable position before her, her fingers making only the lightest of sounds as they danced across the keys. "I'll be fine, Carson, thank you," she smiled again, sorrow and weariness in her features.

Carson nodded a final goodbye and turned for the glass doors that led out to the Control Room. He tried to figure out the best way back to his quarters, hoping that sleep would not long elude him.

With a few tired keystrokes, Elizabeth Weir commanded the computer to rest, its screen flickering to an empty black as she flipped it closed. She sat there for a long moment, weighing dark thoughts in her mind. She _should_ go back and get some rest—heaven knows she felt like curling up into the fetal position and crying until sleep swept her away—but she knew her mind too well. As soon as she closed her eyes, she would see _him_ again—running, burning, bubbling, screaming. Or maybe the harder dreams would come to her, the dreams of what they could have changed, what they _should have done_ , or what could have happened in another world. Then she would dream of ways he could have lived on, ways that made her corporeal existence seem like the spark of a fading flame. He had been offered Ascension once, she'd seen that first hand, but he had turned it down. John Sheppard had _turned down_ the chance to rise to a higher plane of existence, to shed his mortal limits, to live millennia—if not forever. He had chosen to remain in his own world, to keep fighting, to experience death.

Sometimes the guy was just too noble for his own good.

As Elizabeth glanced around the darkened office, her eyes fell on the wide urn placed at the corner of her desk. It always reminded her of a big clay beet with its iridescent purple-reddish color. Firm Athosian hands had made it, smoothed its rounded sides, but strong American hands had secretly presented it to her on her birthday almost two years ago—a birthday that was _supposed_ to be top secret. She never found out how _he_ had found out, John had a loyalty among his men that money could not buy, though she figured some inexplicable changes in the duty roster hadn't hurt. Again, Elizabeth smiled, running a hand over the urn's rim. The man definitely lit his own kind of spark.

Rising, Elizabeth decided she would have that walk after all. She found a drawer in which to leave her computer for the night. Brushing down her pants, she rounded the corner of her desk, and then disappeared through the double doors that led back to her transport.

oOo

Heavy clacks echoed though the bright gym studio, composing a tune of anger and desperation as dense wood stave met dense wood stave. Ronon fended off Teyla's every advance, using his own height and weight to press his strength advantage. Supple as a river reed, the woman used her smaller stature to her own advantage, spinning and weaving her way around him, shifting her attack so as to take him from two angles at once. He blocked another stave just before it struck a rib. She had come too close this time; he had to buy some room. Grunting, he flexed his arms, forcing her away. Teyla stumbled backward a few steps, recovered quickly and redoubled her efforts. She came at him again, a flurry of wood and will.

Ronon knew the woman had a passion for fighting. Limber, toned and above all determined, Teyla stood a fierce chance against any who barred her way. Ronon himself had fought Wraith warriors face to face and walked away, but it taxed his resources just to stay one step ahead of the small woman before him. She came at him in bursts of master strategy, pelting away at pressure points, joints and tender spots. The giant's body throbbed with pain and exhilaration. He saw in her eyes the resignation to nothing less that sincere victory. Sweat poured from her brow, soaking hair and cloth alike in the sole drive to take him down, to end the fight with her weapon at his throat.

He liked it.

Fighting was the one stable truth in his life, the one passion he allowed himself in the seven years the Wraith took from him. In hand-to-hand battle, you hit or you get hit, you block or you get hurt, you win or you die. No stalling, just action—pure intent, pure resolve.

Pure truth.

He met Teyla, blow for blow. She still fought like a caged beast, but the moment's respite he had bought himself had renewed his strength. The two had been going at it for over and hour now, but she didn't seem to feel the strain. He knew where her well of energy sprung from this night, and it wasn't going to die away any time soon.

"It wasn't your fault," he stated, simply.

She tried again for his ribs. "He sacrificed himself for me," she gasped back, grunting as he bent with her flow of motion, turning her attack against her.

Ronon's return strike met hers, driving her back. "You did all you could."

She moved back with his force, bending with it, twirling, and then coming at him from his open side. Teyla struck him in back. Hard. Ronon sucked in a quick breath. "He had importance here. I should have been the one to…" Teyla lost her voice as Ronon spun and drove forward, lifting her aloft and slamming her back down into the athletic mat with all force. He thought he saw her eyes rattle in her head.

"You have a value all your own," he growled in a low voice, "Sheppard saw that." He kept her there a brief moment, letting is words sink in as their breaths raced each other. "And I see it too."

oOo

She knew she had made a mistake even before the doors closed behind her. Carson had warned her as much back in the Jumper bay. True, she did not want to remember him this way, she did not want to tarnish that rugged skin or that damnable devilish smirk, but she could not let him go without seeing him for herself. To see just what they had done to him. She had to see him one last time, even if _he_ was only what he left behind.

Elizabeth took a step into the cool climate of the Atlantis morgue—or rather, a room of it. There had been little speculation as to the purpose of the room when they had first discovered it. Lantean stasis pods lined the walls—oblong glass pods large enough to support a human body. She had seen them before, in other sectors of the city. Each coaxed the body into a stasis that could last for centuries—millennia, even. Carson, wary to utilize technology he did not fully understand, did not care to test the pods on the living, much to McKay's frustration. An incident with the crypt's refrigeration unit, however, forced Carson's hand and the good doctor consented to use of the pods as individual crypts. The pods had performed so well, Carson still used them from time to time to preserve bodies awaiting transport home aboard the Daedalus. Certainly the pod preserved flesh as effectively, if not more effectively, that the cold storage technique, though it mattered little to her at the moment. From what she understood, John's body was so far damaged that preservation had been the least of their issues. Still, Carson's team wasted no time in transferring him to one of the pods while she debated what was to be done with him.

Elizabeth stepped up to an occupied pod. They had been lucky in the last few weeks, so locating the correct pod had not been difficult. She eyed the form inside with an intent interest the felt both mortally disgusting and oddly curious. A hazy fog within the pod obscured the inhabitant's identity, but something about the broad contours of the body had her sniffling even before she located the push button control pad for the humming stasis pod. She pressed a smooth button and the pod lurched out of the wall, sliding gently into a horizontal position. She stood there for an idle minute, studying the loose profile within the Ancient chamber, gathering strength for shat she had to do. Something deep inside warned her to stop now, that she had seen enough, but still she felt the need to press on, to do what she had come to do.

Breathing a deep, determined breath, Elizabeth pressed the button and the glass lid slid back, revealing dark hair, perfect pointed ears and eyes closed as if in perfect slumber. Carson had, apparently, removed the colonel's clothes for the examination. Deep, gagging burns scrawled around his body. Black, searing scorch marks trailed down his neck, slicking across his chest, and on down his trunk. His back, burnt and ashen, resembled more a spent brick of charcoal than human flesh. Bubbles of reddened flesh spotted his once pale chest, dark hairs singed from existence. His arms barely looked human, scarred and discolored as they were.

Yet, by some miracle, a sliver of him remained. She leaned over him, willing thoughts of fire and crippling torture from her mind, her hand tracing the line of his jaw and the bone of his cheek. The fire had taken his back and a portion of his limbs, but his face remained largely untouched. Dirt and grime smeared his features, but did not mar them. Even the pale mask of his final rest had not taken from him the very rugged charms that had caught her attention that monumental day beneath the ice of Antarctica. His eyes, banished hazel, looked ready to pop open at the first loud sound. His dark hair, only a little singed by the fires, swirled about his head in a comely mass of twisted chaos. His lips, pale in death, still looked kissably soft.

 _He must have covered his head while saving Teyla_ , Elizabeth mused, brushing a stray lock of hair from his brow. The ripping blast tore apart his back, perhaps his arms too, but the flames had not touched his chiseled features and, for that, she felt thankful. _Handsome to the grave_ , Elizabeth thought before she pressed the lightest of kisses to his forehead. She had fought so hard to keep him in Atlantis, where she thought he belonged—now he would belong to the stars.

Another twitch of her finger sealed the colonel within the glass embrace of his Ancient coffin. Taken by a sudden wave of sorrow and nausea, Elizabeth took a few fumbling steps back. Turning, she stumbled back toward the door, gasping for breath between tight sobs. Tears blinded her vision, so much so that, when the door slid aside to grant her exit, she barely registered the presence of Dr. Rodney McKay on the other side. He was but a blur of pale and grey as she dashed from the cold room.


	4. Fields of Time

Heavy, hollow thunking resounded throughout the gate room as the Atlantis Stargate blinked to life. Blue chevrons lit up as wild symbols, representing the Pegasus constellations, chased each other around the ring.

"Sir! Incoming wormhole!" a young sergeant called from the helm of the Ancient gate controls. Lorne's head snapped up, eyes narrowing against the sudden blue white flash as a wormhole burst through the Stargate. With Sheppard gone and Dr. Weir taking some well deserved personal time, the young major suddenly found himself in the uniquely uncomfortably position of man-in-charge. It wasn't the first time he'd filled in for Sheppard—months ago, when they'd thought him lost in that terrible debacle with Aiden Ford, he'd served as the ranking officer until Caldwell returned aboard the Daedalus—but he felt odd stepping in for Dr. Weir. This was, technically, a civilian operation. Civilians didn't particularly appreciate when the military took control of things, but in light of recent events, no one felt like squabbling over it.

Translucent pale covered the gate as the energy shield sprung into place, leaving Lorne with little time to debate his position. Someone wanted through that gate, but who?

"IDC?" he questioned. No one was due back, at least not for a few hours. That mean this was either an ally attempting contact, a friendly returning home early, or a third option he really didn't want to contemplate at the moment.

"Nothing yet," the sergeant responded, a nervous hand flitting over computer controls. "Not even a radio transmission."

Damn. Lorne hissed inwardly. No ally would dare contact them without an identification code, and any personnel attempting to gate home with out his transmitter—affectionately nicknamed the Garage Door Opener, or GDO for short—would dial the Alpha Site before risking Atlantis. That meant the latter of three options, and yet the option that opened up a host of creative possibilities—Wraith, Genii, disgruntled natives, et cetera.

Again, nothing he really wanted to think about.

"Leave it up," he commanded, ignoring a tickle of doubt in the back of his mind. It was not an unfamiliar feeling; they had all felt it at one time or another. Leaving the shield up over an incoming wormhole spelled certain doom for anyone who attempted to come through it. While that ensured the security of the Gate insofar as they could pick and choose who came through, it also means those who were not picked and chosen met a sudden and severe end. Stargate Command had experienced that scenario fist hand on more than one occasion. Still, without proper verification of the traveler's identity, protocol demanded the shield remain in place in order to protect the whole of the city against the unknown threat. Sometimes they had to ignore the chance that it wasn't anyone who meant them any harm.

"Yes, sir," the sergeant nodded, but frowned when the controls darkened at his touched, ignoring his commands. As if controlling itself, the panel lit again, but still would take no input commands. The airman wrestled with the controls, trying desperately to regain control, but the controls would not respond. Techs all over the Control Room looked up from their scattered stations, confusion bubbling over the sudden lockout. "What the…?" breathed the dark haired airman.

Major Lorne straightened, taking a surprised step forward to view the spastic controls for himself. "What's going on?"

"I-I don't know, sir," the sergeant replied. "I can't stop them."

A button on the Ancient controls darkened and the shield over the Stargate blinked out of existence, exposing the Gaterium to whatever threat lay beyond.

"Crap," grunted the major. Security teams around the Gaterium sprung into action, assembling a perimeter around the Gate even before Lorne gave the order. Force of habit, he supposed. The men and women of the Atlantis military contingent were well-trained in their duties, and securing the gate was the most important factor of all. Lorne made a motion to two marines standing guard at the doorway, silently commanding them to follow as he made for the lower level. They had not yet made it to the top landing of the lighted staircase before a slurp sounded from the Gate. Shouts rang out as a Puddle Jumper barreled through the Gate. It seemed to coast more than fly through the grey-blue ring, unceremoniously clattering to the Gaterium floor even as airmen jumped and stumbled out of its way. The small vessel skid along the floor, making a low scratching sound as it slumped forward, slamming into the lighted stair.

Lorne and his escorts saw the Jumper Five placard in the ship's window even before they noted the team tossed about within. The pilot, a man Lorne knew as Captain Gaines, looked back at him with surprise in his grey eyes. Gaines was a man who had earned every iron grey hair on his head, and in doing so became a man near impossible to frighten by mortal means. Still, whatever had happened on the other side of that Gate, Lorne could see in his eyes that Gaines had not expected to make it past the shield. The thought made Lorne cringe.

"Captain!" the ranking officer called out, scrambling down the stairs two and three at a time. What happened back there?"

Gaines shook his head, forcing calm into ragged breaths. "Unknown, sir," he called over the Jumper's com. "We were en-route back from our target planet when a Wraith ship picked up on us—we were surrounded by Darts before we knew what hit us. We thought we were home free when we dialed the Gate, but they used some kind of pulse weapon," he shrugged as he assisted his co-pilot, who seemed to have taken a nasty blow to the head when the Jumper lurched to a stop. "An EM pulse or something, by the time we realized they'd knocked out our radios and our GDO, we couldn't pull out of the way," Gaines let out a deep sigh as he dropped the hatch, allowing a med team access to his injured crew. "I guess we owe you a debt of gratitude, sir."

"Yeah," Lorne bit his bottom lip, unsure how to proceed. How do you tell a man he owes his life to a computer glitch? "The shield," he continued. "About that…"

Gaines' face fell. "Sir?"

oOo

Elizabeth held a small cut of paper in her hands, playing with it idly as she glanced about her surroundings. Overnight, John's quarters had turned into something of a shrine to the flyboy military commander. While protocol stipulated that his personal items be packed up and returned to their closest kin, no such relative had yet been tracked down. No one particularly had the heart to box away the colonel's life, either. After all, they didn't really need the space—Atlantis compared to Manhattan in size. Besides, what good would it do to have it all packed up only to sit in some dark storage compartment, or worse yet tossed out of memory or care?

As the grim news filtered throughout the city, expedition members, both military and civilian, had come to this place to pay their respects with small gifts of sentimentality. Unnamed stars shone through the windows and she marveled at the sheer volume of notes and photos plastered to the wall. The woman leaned in as her eye caught on one photo posted at just about her eye level. She wasn't quite sure of the context, but the photo must have been taken rather recently. John stood looking regal, if not downright cocky, as he posed for the snapshot—wearing Carson Beckett's off-world team jacket. While the colonel had known a thing or two about setting bones and bandaging wounds in the field, she had to chuckle softly at the idea of the pilot putting the yellow panels to the test. Apparently Carson agreed with her—he stood beside the airman, an exaggerated look of terror spread across his features.

Elizabeth smiled and glazed over the rest of the pictures on the wall. Most seemed to be candid shots, some blurred with motion as if the colonel had been unaware of the photographer's presence. She even saw a few awkward shots of the tall man practicing staves with Teyla, sweat on his brow as he lurched for the smaller woman. Elizabeth knew John had a few fans in the city—especially among the female population—but she had never considered the idea that there were expedition members stalking him with a camera. Under different circumstances, she might have considered sending a pointed memo, but she was glad, in the end, that her team had these few trinkets to remember him by.

Another photo, slightly overexposed, caught John and Rodney shoulder to shoulder in the commissary. Each sat before a plate of what could have been some kind of meatloaf, or perhaps it was some kind of cake. Either way, the two attacked their prey with that all-too-male concentration, forks poised just above the kill. The two had matching bulges in their cheeks where unsuspecting meatloaf-cake had already met its end. That one shot proved, if only in Elizabeth's mind, that John Sheppard and Rodney McKay just had to be brothers on some existential plane—regardless of whether either of them would admit it or not.

She looked down at the paper she held, a photo that she had kept to herself for over a year now. It was cock-eyed and just a little off center. Teyla was still getting used to the Earth technology when the camera had been pressed into her hands. Still the Athosian captured a rare moment, considering the gravity of the early days of the expedition. Cut off from Earth with little hope of ever returning home, laughs did not come easily back them. It had been somewhere around Christmastime and the fear of breaking tradition had grown stronger than the will to preserve a strictly-business attitude. The city celebrated a small holiday party—nothing fancy, just a chance to talk outside the confines of duty. Elizabeth stood in the center of the picture, a floppy, fuzzy Santa hat pulled over her brown curls. Rodney stood at her side, face pink from laughter and an arm slung around her back. On her other side stood John, for once not clothed in the greys of the Atlantis battle dress, but in a light linen dress shirt and a pair of worn jeans. The warm touch of his arm on her shoulder as the three posed for the photo still brought a smile to her lips. That soft smile turned to a bittersweet grin as she circled the room of memories. She placed the picture in an out of the way spot, burying it behind a few others so as not to draw attention to it.

This is how I want to remember John, she thought as she took in the whole of the room. Not by the scars on his body, but by the vibrancy of his life.

Elizabeth paused when she came to a bookshelf John had set up next to his personal computer terminal, noting a display on the topmost shelf. Several frames sat clustered together, photos of a young man she would have taken for John's double if not for the piercing blue of the younger man's eyes and the lighter cast of his ruffled hair. It confused her for a moment, knowing John had no living relative whom they could track down. The first picture that caught her eyes was of two boys at play in cool summer waters—one of them quite obviously John, though fifteen years younger and stripped to the waist. The young man who would one day become the military commander of the lost city of Atlantis dragged a hand through the water, casting a white wave on another young man. Bright blue eyes glittered from under brown locks of hair plastered flat to his head, a toothy grin breaking on his pink lips. She smiled again at the picture beside it—a very proud-looking Major Sheppard stood next to the young man, an arm around his neck. Both wore uniforms of the armed forces, though of differing branches. John, of course, was dressed in formal blues of the Air Force, the young man in dress blues of the United States at the bottom in an unfamiliar hand were the words:

"If the ocean was whiskey, and I was a duck  
I'd dive to the bottom to get one sweet suck."

Her smile faded when her eyes fell on the keepsakes scattered among the pictures. A triangular case made of hardwood dominated the display, a blue field of white stars shone out from behind the glass lid. Elizabeth had seen this case too many times before—each held the flag of a fallen American serviceman.

A pair of beaten dog tags hung from the corner of a brushed steel picture frame, the same frame that held the photo of the two men in dress uniform. Elizabeth did not need to check the name stamped into the cold metal to know they belonged to the same man, and that that same man would never again feel the chill of the ocean, or the warmth of the summer sun.

She picked up one last little memoir placed on the nightstand next to Sheppard's bed—a large, grayscale photo of an older man with greying hair and wide shoulders. He placed large, careworn hands on the small shoulders of a young, dark-haired boy. Behind them sprawled a breathtaking vista of lake and mountains. Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed as she imagined the two, hiking through the beautiful wilderness, father teaching his young son skills that the boy would later use in situations neither of them could have dreamed of.

Elizabeth set down the picture as hot tears burned her eyes. She wiped at them, but they were already streaming down her cheeks in salty rivers. She put a hand to her lips and choked back a few aching sobs. The cries came too strong, however, an Elizabeth shook with weeping sighs, staring at the young face and tousled hair of a boy who would die—not for a world, not for a country, but for a friend—a billion light years from home.


	5. Aching Heart's Insistence

The sea breeze tugged playfully at Elizabeth's curls, the folds of her light summer sundress rippling through the air. An endless ocean and a cloudless sky stretched out before her, a white beach beneath her. She dug her feet into soft, warm sands, feeling it gently cuddle her soft skin. She lifted her face toward the warm sun, trying to remember the last time she had been to the Mainland. Jinto's union ceremony had swept her out of Atlantis, what was it—two, three years ago? Sighing in slight regret, she admitted it leaned closer to three. Had she really let that much time slip away from her? It seemed only yesterday that the last Wraith alliance had dissolved into the abyss, taking with it the dreadful warships and all the heartache that had tormented her people for the last decade. She could not begin to comprehend the relief the Athosians felt at the Wraith's withdrawal—Teyla's kind had lived under the threat of the Wraith for as long as they or any of their ancestors could remember. She still could not begin to comprehend the fear, the anger, the sorrow they had endured from the cradle. With the Wraith gone, a revelation of freedom swept that the galaxy like a windstorm.

Two shrill, excited screams sounded from a distance. Elizabeth's head turned and she spotted two small forms barreling toward her from atop a sandy dune. _Well, Pegasus_ had _peace,_ she grinned to herself as two young children—a boy and a girl—ran toward her on unstable feet, both giggling uncontrollably. Each had their mother's dark curls, though the little girl's hair fell to her shoulders, whereas her brother's close-cropped locks stuck out in a swirl of chaos. Two sets of green eyes brightened as the small bodies descended on her, feet kicking up sun-warmed sand. Elizabeth knelt and accepted them into her arms, giving them each a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. They both squirmed and giggled at her embrace, but neither pulled away. She tickled their bellies until each screeched with joy.

Laughing, she caught sight of another form. A woman trailed the young children, sliding in a half-fall down the windswept hill of sand. Sunlight danced off golden strands as the wind caught her long blonde hair. Crystal blue eyes laughed as she regained her footing. If she felt embarrassment at her almost-tumble, she did not show it. She merely brushed a hand over her flowing white sundress and strode toward the giggling threesome.

Anne was an uncannily beautiful woman—flawless, even. The sun could not touch her porcelain skin, no matter how long she stood beneath its presence. Instead, her perfect face seemed to radiate with a light all of its own. She had an odd connection with the children, too. Little Jason, who they called Jay-Jay, had taken to her almost immediately, like a second mother. Whatever Anne said, the children did without question—a thought inconceivable to Elizabeth's frazzled maternal nerves. Elizabeth had grown a little jealous until she had the stroke of genius that inspired her to hire the woman as the children's nanny. She had never once regretted the decision. She, too, had developed and admiration for the woman—intelligent, charismatic, grace incarnate, Anne seemed everything Elizabeth hoped to be and then some.

Elizabeth ran a hand through ruffled brown spikes. "And what have my little rascals been up to all day?" giggled the dark haired woman, love bubbling in her voice.

Jay-Jay plunked himself down before her, picking up handfuls of dry sand and letting them sift through his chubby fingers. Being the older of the two, he felt it his responsibility to report the day's events. His sister busied herself by picking out tiny stones in the sand, neatly setting them in a proud pile. "Daddy told us about the time Uncle Rodney blowed up the whole solar system," he blurted, watching as the sand stole away in sweeping drifts. "And about the time Uncle Rodney made a spaceship explode out of a really big volcano and the time he shotted Uncle Rodney in the leg but Uncle Rodney didn't get hurted."

Elizabeth's lips curled into a smile at the boy's explanation. "He told you all that did he?" she asked with a raised brow. She smirked at the blue-eyed nanny, who smiled knowingly. Nothing transfixed the children more than stories of Rodney McKay's death-defying exploits, regardless of their accuracy.

Jay-Jay nodded excitedly. "He said Uncle Rodney is kinda like See-Threepio from Star Wars—you know, the big gold robot guy with the guts hanging out—but I think Uncle Rodney's head is way more shinier. Except in the scene where Princess Leia gives everyone awards and stuff. But that's the only time." Next to him, the little girl dug up a small stick of smooth, sea-beaten driftwood about the size of her hand. Picking up the light treasure, she stared at it for a moment before a look of recognition dawned in her eyes. Breathing in a deep, excited breath, she wound her arm back and tossed the stick out over the ocean waves. It sailed through the air for a time before plopping into the ocean with a soft splash. "Jump-jump go fly-fly!" she shouted victoriously and Elizabeth had to bite back a laugh.

Anne, too, stifled a giggle before placing soft hands on tiny backs. With a knowing look to Elizabeth, Anne knelt down to their eye level. "Hey, how about we go over to the water and collect some pretty sea shells for Mommy?" she offered with a child-like sense of wonder. "Would you two like that?"

The two children smiled and nodded wildly. Elizabeth smiled at Anne thankfully as the two cheered and ran off to the waterside, scrambling over each other as each seemed to spot the same shell just as the other went to grab it. Standing, the older woman turned to the younger. "Where is he?" she asked the young blonde.

"In his office, where else?" Anne winked before skipping off after the children. The wind again caught her hair and Anne became a swirl of glimmering gold and white against eternal azure.

" _Where else,_ " Elizabeth snickered, turning away. Her feet left deep pockets in the sand as she made her way down the shoreline. She had not gone terribly far before she came upon a low-slung hammock sitting just out of the tide's reach. It was hung high enough to give one proper swinging clearance, but still low enough to use the sand as the world's perfect cup holder. Beside the hammock sat a small ice chest, filled to the brim with ice cold beer, no doubt.

Elizabeth stuck tongue firmly in check as she approached the still form slumped across the tough netting. A white, half-buttoned shirt and light cargos covered his form, leaving tan arms and legs exposed to the warm sunlight. The breeze brushed through the dark chaos of his tousled hair. A book sat open on his firm chest, though he made no effort to read it—the steady rise and fall of his chest confessed that John Sheppard was fast asleep. Elizabeth slowly crept up to him, kneeling at his side as she slyly slipped the book out of his weak grasp. He offered no resistance. Curious, she flipped the book closed to read the title, wondering what great master of literature had so captured the man's attention.

 _The Essential Calvin and Hobbs_ stared back at her.

The woman smiled again and lightly tossed the book aside, returning her attention to the sleeping form before her. She tentatively combed long fingers through his hair, debating what mischief filled _his_ dreams. Elizabeth smiled and pressed soft lips to his forehead. After a time, dark lashes parted ever-so-slightly and bright hazel peeked out through weary slits.

"Hey there, Sleepy," she teased, leaning into him.

"Hey there, Beautiful," he whispered softly, his voice little more than a dull rumble. Elizabeth reddened slightly as his hand found her curls, twirling them between his fingers. She nestled into him, letting her head rest on his shoulder. A warm, masculine scent filled her senses, a thrilling smell of strength and safety mixed with the salt of the sea air. She felt wholly complete resting there, listening as the sound of the tide mingled with his breaths. The steady movements of his chest matched seamlessly with the whisper of the ocean.

Something cold twitched deep with Elizabeth's gut—or was it her soul? Distracted, she pushed it away as a strong hand took her by the chin. John stroked her cheek, guiding her mouth toward his. She closed her eyes as their lips met, but it was not at all what she expected. Elizabeth took a sharp breath as her lips met frost. His skin, not firm warmth but hardened ice, chilled her to the core. He stole her breath, draining away all warmth, all joy. Shivers consumed her as he pulled her deeper and deeper into the frozen kiss.

oOo

Thoughts of beach and ocean slipped from her mind as a sharp call lifted Elizabeth from her fitful sleep. She sat up in bed, panting raggedly as blurry images of her dream raced through her mind. Elizabeth's hands went to her lips as John's sleeping face haunted her mind. How dare she dream of such things, she scolded herself. _I must be going nuts,_ she thought to herself. _John was a friend, nothing more. It certainly doesn't help to think about him like_ that _—not now!_

The same masculine scent drifted into her senses once again. Surprised and slightly shaken, Elizabeth eyed her unfamiliar surroundings. She sat in a bed, but the bed was not her own, nor was the room her own. She kicked a dark comforter from her legs in half panic before her eyes settled on the scraps of photos pasted around the Lantean walls—now bathed in the bright sunlight of morning. On the nightstand beside her, a little boy grinned mischievously. In a flood of dim acknowledgement, it all came back to her. Elizabeth groaned inwardly, flopping back on the pillows.

She had fallen asleep in John's bed, her radio still fastened to her ear.

Elizabeth brushed sands from her eyes, willing the cold, fearful feeling the nightmare away from her waking mind. A chirp in her ear alerted her to the tiny communication device. "Dr. Weir, this is Lorne," a low voice called.

She raised a shaky hand to her ear, unsure which terrified her more—her dreaming world with John, or the waking world without him. "Yes, Major, I hear you. What's the problem?" Elizabeth tried to sound alert, lucid, and under control.

"We've got a couple, actually," Lorne responded, completely ignorant of the fact Elizabeth sat in his commanding officer's bedroom—worse yet, his bed—dreaming of tender kisses like some damned schoolgirl. "We had an incident in the Gate Room earlier this morning. A team returned home ahead of schedule, but without their GDOs. We had no way of verifying their identity, so I ordered that the shield remain up," Major Lorne had a way of sounding absolutely at ease, if not completely bored, with whatever he had to say. He could tell her the city crumbled away in a fiery storm of devastation while she slept and still sound like he merely recited last week's lotto numbers. Elizabeth found it slightly unsettling on some level—she took few things lightly concerning her city—and yet it felt oddly reassuring. It leant him the aura of complete control, even in the darkest—or most embarrassing—of situations.

Her eyes flew open, despite the stiff-skinned feeling of slumber that lingered over her features. "My god, who did we lose?"

"That's the thing, ma'am," Lorne replied in that casual verbal swagger. "The shield lowered itself."

She choked back her shock. "It did _what?_ "

"Just what I said, ma'am," he repeated. "The controls took over and lowered the shield, but that's not all. Zelenka's team just reported another anomaly," Elizabeth listened closely, unsure if she had truly wakened from the dream world. "They were testing a Jumper engine they rebuilt from salvaged vessels. They'd only intended to initiate the system, but there was a miscalculation somewhere and the entire engine system went critical."

Elizabeth was on her feet, fervently brushing wrinkles from her outfit, praying no one would notice her new fragrance until she could get back to her own quarters and change—if she could get back at all. "Was anyone hurt?"

"Well, no—nothing serious, at least—but that's where the odd part comes in," Lorne paused for emphasis. "Zelenka's team couldn't shut down the system directly. The whole jumper _should_ have exploded. Instead, it fizzled out just before it reached overload."

"You sound disappointed, Major."

Lorne seemed to shrug verbally. "I love a good explosion as much as the next guy, ma'am, but that's not my point. They found a short out that severed the power to the engine. If it hadn't taken that precise moment to blow, we would have lost the Jumper bay."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "What are you saying, Major?"

"There's something going on here," Lorne replied. "Something in the circuitry, something in the city programming, I don't know. All I _do_ know is that this feels too convenient."

"Rodney knows this city better than anyone," she offered, silently cursing the colonel for lack of a full length mirror. She'd just have to take the side halls back to her quarters and pray no one had staked out her room, ready to ambush her the moment she awoke.

"That's the thing, ma'am. No one has seen Dr. McKay since he stormed out of the science lab yesterday," Lorne informed her. "And we've checked everywhere." Elizabeth opened her mouth to suggest checking the morgue before realizing that would likely encourage inquires into _her_ whereabouts after her little meeting with Carson. She kept silent. Surely the nurse on duty would have checked the morgue since her visit.

"Has anyone considered the possibility that he might be the source of these anomalies?" she questioned. "We've had instances before of people manipulating central controls through remote terminals."

Lorne did not miss a beat. "I've already thought about that, Doctor. It's a definite possibility. I figure the easiest way to answer that question would be to ask McKay himself, but that involves finding him first. We've already swept the main areas—he's not in his quarters, his lab, or any of his usual stations—though we have picked up some unusual energy readings coming from deep within one of the piers. Some members of the science team think he might have gone into a damaged section of the city just to—well—I believe the term was 'Get the Hell away from everyone.' I've got Teyla and Ronon with me, we were about to go check it out."

Elizabeth frowned as she turned for the door. "I thought I told those two to take some personal time."

Teyla's smooth voice flooded the radio. "Dr. McKay is our friend too, Dr. Weir," she defended. "While he may wish to be alone at this time, it is best he not be so far removed from the rest of the expedition."

"Understood, Teyla," Elizabeth conceded softly. Rodney did have a solitary streak in him, but they were still too new to the city to be running about on their own, least of all in their depressed states. "Just be careful."

Major Lorne and the Athosian leader took their leave, calling quick departures over the radio. Elizabeth straightened herself one last time before she held a hand toward the lighted panel that served as both the room's light switch and door knob. She hesitated as she went to wave a hand over the panel. How had she gone so long without being disturbed? She did not remember sealing the room, even to steal a few private moments for herself. Surely others should have come by, others wishing to pay silent respects. She would never wish to deny anyone that small thing. Curious, she knelt before the glowing panel. She did not pretend to know a fraction of what Rodney or Radek knew about the Ancient technology, however she had, over a time, learned to recognize subtle shifts in the light display—what it meant when one light lit instead of another after someone disappeared behind a door. Without a tech on hand, she couldn't be sure, but it looked to Elizabeth like John's room had been locked from the inside.


	6. Crash and Burn

Pale blue lights fizzled intermittently as three figures crept through the dim halls of the city deep. Major Lorne balanced his attention between the machine gun in his one hand and the blocky, translucent Life Sign Detector in his other. He used the handheld device both to sense for living organisms and to detect fluctuations in the local power readings. Any significant concentration of power might indicate an active lab or control point in which the doctor might be hiding.

The two Pegasus natives flanked him on either side, each bearing their own weapon of choice. While they all felt a certain air of safety within the city walls, training and intuition begged them to take precaution. Their chances of running into a stowaway Genii spy or Wraith saboteur were miniscule, at best, but there was still too much they didn't understand about the city. None of them wanted to be caught off guard should their assumptions of safety prove false.

"It's dark down here," Ronon muttered, letting his blaster lead him past bare doorways and empty corridors. Lorne and Teyla nodded their unspoken agreement, shining weapon-mounted lights around the timeless halls. They had only come across a handful of working lights to guide their way, most of which only flickered in defiance at being awoken from their darkness. Ronon stalked cautiously, muscles coiled in anticipation, ready to pounce should the need arise. Lorne followed, studying his Lantean device while Teyla watched their backs from the barrel of her P-90.

When their path appeared clear, Lorne motioned them farther down the hallway. "Atlantis had a pretty nasty firefight with the Wraith before you joined up—three hive ships plus a few friends that came late to the party."

"So I heard," croaked the Runner.

"Well, the good guys won, at least," Lorne continued, almost disinterested. "But the city took some damage," he motioned around with a nod of his head. "A kamikaze pilot hit this sector pretty hard. Apparently, he didn't take out anything vital, so this area wasn't scheduled for repairs for another few months. He did knock out some of the sensor relays though, which is why we're having such a hard time pinpointing him," he took a moment to glance around burnt out lighting and dim alien walls. Black shadows cast by their lights danced across grey architecture. The city certainly felt different when one couldn't command the lighting. It felt more like a graveyard, or a catacomb. "My guess is Dr. McKay wanted to bury himself in as much work as possible," Lorne winced at his own pun. "And this place definitely needs a lot of work."

"If he doesn't want anyone around, why bother going after him?" Ronon asked. Whether he was eager to get back to the inhabited section of the city, or just annoyed at having to trail McKay, was unclear.

"Because he shouldn't be alone," Teyla responded, never taking her attention from the path behind. Her voice held a twinge of sorrow. "Especially given these unfortunate circumstances."

"Yeah, that and the whole ghost-in-the-computer thing is kinda creeping me out," Lorne added. "I'd like to get to the bottom of this sooner rather than later."

The runner raised a brow. "You'd rather have McKay dancing around taking all the credit?"

"Yeah, basically," the major admitted. "Besides, if he doesn't know what's going on, he's the guy we need back in the Control Room," Lorne's eyes went to the Life Sign Detector as the small device let out a quick chirp. He again motioned the team on down the corridor. "I think we got something just down this hall here. Five doors down on the right."

Lorne pointed to a doorway some distance from their position. It wasn't difficult to discern the precise room he meant—light spilled out from the doorway, casting a long white rectangle across the dim corridor. The team grew silent, instinct forcing them to approach the room cautiously and quietly. As they crept up to the door, backs to the wall, Lorne made a few small motions to the Runner, directing him how to proceed. Ronon readied himself on the other side of the door. With a silent nod, the two men pivoted into the room, ready to fire on anything that moved.

Their drawn guns met only still silence.

"Dr. McKay?" Lorne tested, surveying the room for signs of movement. Sensing none, the team eased into the room. Atlantis had several control points and research sites scattered throughout the city, points at which the main database could be accessed without having to march all the way down to the main control room in the central spire. This one appeared no different from any other they had found before—a small room with several sensitive control panels skirting the room, two larger control banks placed at the center. A panel inset into the back of the room looked like it could have been a doorway, but it didn't look to have been used in quite some time. Large view screens hung here and there, though most hung inactive in slumber.

As Lorne and Ronon approached the central consoles, one of the panels flickered. The two stepped back in caution, turning their weapons on the device. Teyla watched from the doorway as the cold lighting of the Ancient technology blinked on, winked out and then hummed back to life. A moment later, arms appeared from behind the nearest control bank as Dr. Rodney McKay pulled himself up, grunting angrily. His frustrated expression faltered when his eyes landed on the small team.

"Oh, Major," he quipped, as if just registering their presence. Knowing McKay's knack for super-concentration, Lorne didn't entirely doubt it. "Took you long enough."

Lorne lowered his P-90, sighing away the tenseness in his muscles. Teyla and Ronon also lowered their guard. "You were expecting us?"

McKay nodded, pressing a few controls before sidestepping the lit panel in favor of the still-darkened controls of the second control bank. He did not bother to look up as he knelt next to the malfunctioning bank. His hands traced the smooth side for a moment before he lifted away a thin cover plate. Lantean systems ran on advanced crystal technology which accounted for their superior power and endurance. Rodney spoke quickly, confidently, but with sincere unconcern for the new arrivals as he pulled various interlocking crystals from the uncovered panel. "I lost a friend, Major, not my hearing. I heard you broadcast your instructions to the search teams," he carefully rearranged the crystals, his hands shaking with weariness as he replaced the crystals. "Still, I suppose I should feel honored you came looking."

"You heard everything and you still chose not to respond?" questioned the major.

"Sorry, Major. I guess I just got caught up in the moment." Having shed his team jacket, the physicist's clothes appeared a mess of dirt and sweat. His wrinkled grey shirt looked as if he had wiped dirtied hands with it several times. The radio in his ear, however, remained firmly in place.

"Rodney," Teyla spoke calmly as she stepped forward to look up and down his weary form. "Is everything all right?"

"Oh yes, fine, fine," he waved a dismissive hand. "Never been better," he diligently continued with his work. When the woman did not back off, he sighed and added a pointed. "Why?"

The woman's eyes widened slightly. Confusion passed over her features, but Rodney did not turn around. She shared a look with Lorne before turning her attention back to Rodney. "No one has seen you in over a day," she stated, as if the explanation should have been obvious.

"Well, here I am—perfectly fine," Rodney glared up for but a moment, offering the woman a forced smile. "You can tell Elizabeth I'm all right. _Thank you_ and _goodbye_ ," he pressed curtly.

Teyla remained firm in her stance. "Dr. McKay, we would like it if you accompanied us back to the city."

"Nope. Sorry," he rearranged another crystal deep within the control bank. The panel above flickered to life. Rodney smiled—wide, self-gratifying, but short lived. He pulled himself up to his full height only to bend over the lighted controls. "Too much to do. Can't spare a minute."

Worry filled the Athosian's eyes as she noted the way the scientist swayed slightly. A man often lost his equilibrium when denied enough sleep. Ignoring her concern, he tapped a few buttons in frustration. "Rodney," she began again. "When was the last time you slept—or ate?"

"I took a nap, okay? What are you, my mother?" he spat back, slamming a fist on the controls. When the panel did not respond to his commands, his voice turned harsh, even coarse. "I'm telling you I'm perfectly fine, I jut need to get these consoles operational and I can't waste the time transporting back and forth from the commissary every couple of hours," he knelt again at the open panel, rummaging through the sensitive crystals.

"Why?" Lorne asked, suspicion in his voice. "What is so important about this Control Center?"

"Duh," Rodney sneered just long enough to level an icy glare on the major. "It's broken."

Lorne rolled his eyes. "We can see that, Doctor, but what's the rush?"

Rodney's face reddened in annoyance. He once again stood to try the controls. "Look, if you're not going to help, just get out of my way and stop distracting me!"

"Rodney, you're tired," Teyla soothed. "You need rest."

The scientist seemed to give up on the fickle controls, instead turning his bubbling anger on the threesome. "How can I rest when this whole blasted city is falling apart at the seams?" he barked, waving a hand at the architecture around him. "I mean, seriously, do you understand how much work it is going to take to get this sector back up and running again? I'll be lucky if my grandkids' grandkids can flip on a light switch!"

"Then let your friends help you," insisted the Athosian. "I am sure Dr. Weir will let you bring back another team…"

The Canadian's eyes widened like a deer in the headlights. He shook his head violently at the suggestion. "Nonono! No teams! I do _not_ need Zelenka trying to blow up this place too!"

The major's head snapped up at that. "So you _did_ short circuit the engine pod?"

Rodney paused a moment, mouth ajar in shock as if he had said something he had not meant to say. He muttered something to himself that no one quite caught. He spoke low, harshly, as if arguing with someone whom they could not hear. Straightening himself suddenly, he folded proud arms across his chest. "Yes," he stated, chin in the air. "And the Gate shield too. It's sad that I leave for a few hours and the whole city starts to implode, but then again, I guess it only proves how invaluable I truly am," with an air of superiority, he turned back to his control panel. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

"We just want you to come back with us for a while—just to get some rest," Teyla pleaded softly. "Would you not like to eat something besides a Power Bar?" she asked, eyeing a pile of metallic wrappers discarded about the control room floor.

Rodney sighed, almost growling at the woman. "Look, the point I'm trying to make here is that I am a lot smarter than you and I say this sector should have been up and running _yesterday_. Now either _fix_ something or leave me _alone_!" he fumed.

Lorne made a calming motion with his hand. "Whoa there, big guy. We're only trying to help you, remember?"

"Help?" Rodney squealed. "You think this is helping? You can't begin to understand the complexity of this city you… you…" he looked Lorne up and down with a sneer of indignation. "You _hobbit_!" he hissed. "I'm trying to piece back together the technology of the Ancients and you're telling me to…"

The scientist's snide banter cut short at the sound of a blaster pistol. A familiar red pulse hit him straight in the chest, numbing his body and shocking his mind into unconsciousness. Rodney's blue eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to the floor without another word. Teyla and Lorne dove for his limp form as Ronon slipped his intimidating blaster back into its holster.

"Ronon!" Teyla hissed to the runner as she knelt down to Rodney's side. "Why did you do that?"

The Satedan turned his dark gaze on the woman. "Do you want to get him back to the Infirmary or not?" he muttered.

Unmoved, Teyla's scowl deepened. "Ronon! You did not need to _shoot_ him!"

"He's right," Lorne grunted, checking to ensure the fallen man was indeed alive and well. Rodney's pulse felt fine, if sedated, and the major doubted there would be more than a few bruises to remind him of the fall. "Just call Doc Beckett and get a med team down here. Like Hell we're carrying him all the way back."

oOo

By the time Carson Beckett finished with his rounds, Elizabeth had already set up vigil at Rodney's bedside within his private room. She sat there, quietly working on her notebook computer, trying to form the words that had eluded her for the last two days, words that would become the hardest speech she would ever write—the eulogy of a close friend, an ally and an asset. The woman let out a defeated sigh at the irony of the term _Eulogy_. It meant _good speech_ , but now she could not find the right things to say to honor the late colonel. Everything sounded awkward, rough and clumsy. Putting it aside for the moment, she rose as the doctor sailed through the room in his long white lab coat, concerned eyes never leaving his patient until he approached the tired woman.

"He's all right," Carson informed her in a low, comforting voice. "Exhausted, somewhat undernourished and a little dehydrated, but otherwise fine. A day or two of bed rest and a good meal should set him right again," the doctor sighed regretfully and ran a hand over his brow. "I knew I never should have given him that air cast in the first place. I should have given him the real thing—filled with as much lead as I could find. Aye, let's see him try to run off in one o' those contraptions!"

Elizabeth smiled at Carson's rant, imagining the scientist trying to limp away in a lead cast twice the size of his leg with Carson and a horde of medical aides storming after him, IV lines and stretchers at the ready. Her amusement proved contagious and Carson chuckled to himself lightly, though his smile faded as he looked back to the sleeping man.

"I've given him some sedatives to help him rest," he whispered warmly. "Knowing Rodney, his mind's probably kept him awake since…" Carson's eyes dropped. It seemed the whole world had stopped with John's heart.

"I didn't expect him to take it well," Elizabeth whispered, trying to offer some sort of smile or comforting facial gesture. "As much as they were at each other's throats, I think Sheppard and McKay were closer that any of us."

"Oh aye, I don't deny that. There's just something that still bothers me," Carson crossed his arms, watching as Rodney took shallow, steady breaths. McKay had only woken once since his team had brought him back, and even then he had only muttered a few incoherent moans. He still had yet to confess what he was doing down there all alone. "We all know McKay is one of the brightest minds in either galaxy, but he's also got one of the biggest mouths. Lowering the shield and short circuiting the overload were monumental feats to accomplish on such short notice—miraculous, even. So why didn't he tell anyone?"

"Maybe he's judging himself by a different standard," Weir offered quietly.

Carson tilted his head, neither accepting nor rejecting her statement. "You think he feels guilty about… about Colonel Sheppard?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "Well, he _was_ injured during the attack. Maybe he's trying to make up for it, trying to prove himself or something?"

"By becoming Atlantis' personal guardian angel?" Carson questioned in a tone that hinted he didn't quite buy it.

"I suppose the position is open," Elizabeth whispered, though she had not meant to say it out loud. Carson smiled faintly at the thought, though he made to comment. He merely gave her shoulder a warm touch and nodded kindly to her.

"I'd best be moving on to other things, Elizabeth. We can sort this whole mess out when he wakes up. I doubt I can talk you into going back to your own quarters tonight, but I'd appreciate it if you at least tried to get some sleep tonight," he turned to leave. "Big day tomorrow," he added softly.

Elizabeth nodded, her heart sinking at the reminder. Tomorrow they would bury John. "Thank you, Carson," she replied, then smiled as he took his leave.

When Carson's white lab coat disappeared through the Lantean door, Elizabeth sank back into her seat. She picked up her laptop and set it on her knees, fervently typing to keep her mind occupied, but she could not write a commentary on a man's life without dredging up bittersweet memories. Elizabeth paused, fingers over the keyboard, thinking of an eventful day beneath Antarctic ice. The woman's eyes trailed from the screen back to the sleeping physicist who, for the first time in days, finally found the sleep they all deserved but could not gain. Slowly, Elizabeth clicked the monitor closed over the flat keypad. She hugged the thick plastic to her chest, cuddling it almost like a stuffed animal. Eyes closed, her head sunk down between her knees. Her tears lost to the silence of the sleeping infirmary. Silently, she wished for beach and ocean, soft winds and bright hazel.


	7. Eucatastrophe

Sunset cast its auburn hue over the Lantean city, filling the Gaterium with the pallid light of day's end. Within its walls assembled nearly every member of the Atlantis Expedition—a gathering of a dozen nations, countless creeds, and all the colors of the Earth's genetic rainbow. Among them stood representatives of their greatest allies, the people of Athos made up no small number of the attending masses. The military contingent, stood at respectful attention within their ranks, the deep blue of Air Force formal dress dominated the crowd. Among them speckled the black, white and red of the Atlantis Marines.

A podium sat in front of the Stargate, the black-clad Elizabeth Weir dwarfed by the sheer size of the device as she recited the words she had written at McKay's bedside. She dotted her speech with calculated pauses and effectual silence, hoping the impact of quiet would mask the fact she was quickly losing control of her voice. But if anyone noticed, she was in good company. There were more than a few watery eyes in the audience.

Next to the gate sat a solitary Puddle Jumper, its ramp lowered to host a sobering display. The Athosian craftsmen had built John an exquisite coffin—beautiful in its simplicity. Nothing over the top, no ornate scallops or intricate carvings, rather straight lines and simple planes buffed to a mirror-like shine. It looked to be made of something akin to cherry wood—a gleaming lacquer accented the reddish glow. Over this lay the crisp stripes and stars of Old Glory, the stark banner of his service. Beside him rested over a dozen wreaths draped in black ribbons—a wreath for every country represented by the Atlantis Expedition, plus two. One stood for the unnamed countries of Earth, those that had no participation in or knowledge of the Atlantis program, yet still fell under their protection, under _his_ protection. The other wreath stood for Pegasus and all the unnamed souls therein that had been saved by the acts of Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard.

Elizabeth remained cool and collected, though the words she spoke broke her heart a little with every syllable. She had every ear, and yet it seemed she had nothing to say, nothing that could do justice to the bright flame that had winked out far, far too soon.

She looked to the coffin as her speech drew to a close. Her eyes landed on the flag draped over his casket, so definite, so final. It seemed fitting to see it there, draped over a soldier's last bed, and yet insulting in some faint way. He had saved more than a city, more than a country. This expedition united more than a single world; it was a spark that would lead to the salvation and resurrection of an entire galaxy. John was a leader of that expedition, of that spark, over which no mere flag could fly.

Elizabeth swallowed back the tightness that slowly clenched her throat as she recited the last lines of her speech. "And so it is that one so brave, so noble, should not sleep in the cold embrace of earth, but take one last time to the skies which so captured his heart, the skies of Pegasus. May he rest in peace among those stars which first drew the Ancestors here so long ago."

From that moment on, she coasted on autopilot. She stiffly stepped down from the podium. A moment of silence passed. Soft booms sounded in the distance as Atlantis let fly three volleys of drones in salute to its fallen commander. A bugler stepped forward and the sorrowing melody of Taps drifted through the room. Elizabeth had to clear her throat softly a few times to keep the tears at bay. As the last notes of the song faded to silence, two of the military detail stepped toward the casket. Dressed in the formal uniform, the two men woodenly lifted and folded the flag into a tight triangle. With no living family present to accept the flag, the detail leader presented the flag to Dr. Weir, who took it with all the grace and dignity she could muster, though the fabric felt unbearably heavy in her arms.

More men stepped forward to take the sides of the coffin. Slowly, they lifted the long box into the rear of the Jumper, gently setting it into the trappings of a second casket—the casket that would ferry the coffin into the cold of space. The men respectfully retreated, and Dr. Weir, Teyla Emmagan, and Ronon Dex filed into the vessel. Each paid his or her own form of respect as they passed the casket. Elizabeth ran a hand over its smooth lines. Teyla paused for a moment, bowed her head silently in prayer, and moved on. Ronon quietly placed a massive hand on the cold steel, just above the man's chest. He held it there for a moment, breathed, and then withdrew it, joining the others in the front compartment of the Jumper.

Above them, the door to the Jumper Bay opened to let in the fading sunlight. The assembly watched as a small unit of 302's tore through the sky. As the formation passed overhead, one of the ships broke off and pulled into straight climb, disappearing into the darkening night. The other fighters flew on, one less valiant than when they first set out.

The Jumper hatch softly clicked into place and the Ancient ship rose through the heights of the city. Never had a trip into the upper atmosphere felt so long, so methodical, as John Sheppard's last flight to the heavens. When the Jumper at last reached high orbit, the vessel stalled. Wordlessly, the pilot—Major Lorne—worked the controls to release their precious cargo into the solemn cold. The remnants of the flagship team were left to stare in awe as the space casket drifted over the planet they now called home. Propelled by two tiny boosters, the casket shifted itself into decaying orbit.

Elizabeth did not cry as John's casket met the atmosphere, quickly brightening to a hot orange-red as it slipped into gravity's last embrace. Nor did she give into the urge to sob all throughout the long descent home. She looked to the others, watching them as they stared outside. Teyla held back better tears. Ronon remained a grim, silent giant. Lorne, too, appeared respectfully emotionless. Rodney, in his weakened condition, had opted to remain behind. She hadn't fought him on it, but now a part of her wished she had. They all watched as the city once again grew larger in the Jumper's view – each knowing they would return to a city very different from the one they left.

Elizabeth did not cry as she disembarked from the hearse of a Jumper. She showed her support for the soldiers that remained, offered her friendship and solidarity to those that approached her and bid bittersweet goodbyes. It was not until she reached the sanctity of her own chambers that Elizabeth gave into the nagging sorrow, grabbing her pillow from the headboard and sinking into the comfort of her own bed. She pressed her head into its soft warmth and let the tears flow once again.

oOo

Elizabeth did not register cold sand beneath her feet as she sped down the shoreline. There was no bright sun or timid ocean to be found here, rather clouds blanketed the sky and the ocean rolled with a savage wind. Long legs carried Elizabeth over the beaten sand, through the tumbling tide. She did not slow her pace until she came at last to a single hammock set at the water's edge. The ice chest laid on its side, kicked over, its contents long since lost to the sea waves. The hammock, empty, swayed from side to side as the wind tugged at its knots. Elizabeth dropped to her knees, hands clenching the braided rope. She let out a soft sob as she buried her face in the hammock. Despite the chill wind and heavy water, the hammock still felt warm, as if its occupant had only just risen.

The sharp wind brought a voice to her ear. "Dr. Weir?" called a woman's voice. Elizabeth looked up to see a young woman, Anne, making her way across soaked dunes. The wind pulled at her hair and tugged at her dress, but Anne did not fight with its power. It seemed, rather, that the wind bent around her as she strode against the ripping fury. "Dr. Weir, what are you doing here?" She asked as she approached the crumpled woman.

"I had to see him," she sobbed. "I had to see him again. I just can't let him go this way."

Anne blinked in confusion as she called out over the wind. "You saw him every day, every hour. You have seen him as much as one person can within the confines of decency—why must you see him now? What would the sight of him change?"

"It was too soon. It was all too soon," she rubbed a hand over her face. "I know I've watched him walk into danger time and time again—Hell, I've sent him to his death before—but this mission… There was no warning," Elizabeth clung to herself, ignoring the wind that pulled at her curls. "I didn't get a chance to see him, to say goodbye while it still mattered. I didn't get the chance to tell him… to tell him…"

A look of sympathy passed over Anne's flawless face. She knelt beside the woman and her hammock, her soft voice suddenly clear over the sound of wind and ocean. "To tell him what?"

Elizabeth made to answer, but could not quite get the words out. She clenched her fists in frustration. "What does it matter now?" She spat. "He's gone. I didn't want to believe it, I couldn't believe it. I kept hoping there would be some magical being that would pass through the Stargate to deliver the message that he was all right, that he was alive and well on some other plane, somewhere where fire and bullets couldn't touch him," Elizabeth smiled softly, and then shook her head as she thought of a casket and a flag. "But seeing him there, seeing his casket, the cold hardness of the dismal truth…" her head dropped again. "It was just too soon."

"Ascension," Anne whispered excitedly. "That is what you meant, did you not?"

Elizabeth nodded softly, looking up to meet the other woman's bright blue eyes. Anne tilted her head in curiosity. "Why would that make such a difference? The Ascended live an existence separate from your own."

"But as long as he lived on in one form or another, I could sleep knowing true good exists somewhere in this universe, and _that_ is a comforting thought."

The corner of Anne's small mouth turned up at the edges. "There is more to this than either of you will admit."

"What you mean?" Elizabeth asked, confused. Anne put two hands to Elizabeth's shoulders and gave them a light squeeze then, rising, she gathered her skirts. Elizabeth shook her head in confusion, still trying to make sense of the woman's words. "What? What's going on? Anne?" She called, but the young woman only smiled and stepped away. The wind blew again, fierce, and Anne disappeared in a swirl of white and gleaming gold.

oOo

Again Elizabeth woke to an urgent chirp in her ear. She experienced a moment of bleariness as her weary eyes refocused on the familiar surroundings of her quarters. She wasn't sure how long she had slept, but bright sunlight beamed in through the windows, cheering the room despite her dark mood. Stabbing sores shot through her earlobes and Elizabeth groaned as she realized she'd fallen asleep in her good clothes, jewelry and all.

"Elizabeth?" Carson's voice rang in her ear.

Sitting up, she cleared her throat and touched her headset. "Yes, Carson, I'm here."

"Ah, thank God," he sighed. "Elizabeth, we have a serious problem. We found Dr. Kavanaugh unconscious outside the morgue after the service. I can't say for sure what happened, but it looks like he took a pretty heavy blow. But that's not the half of it. Rodney's disappeared again. He must have slipped out of the infirmary just before the memorial service. I don't know how, but no one can find him. Major Lorne is already rounding up search parties, but we've been experiencing some technical difficulties with the city's computers all morning. We can't get reliable sensor readings within the city proper. If McKay is doing this, he doesn't want to be found."

"I'll be right there," she replied, quickly getting to her feet. It took her but a few minutes to strip away yesterday's clothes and slip into her everyday uniform. She ran a quick comb through her matted curls, washed the muck from her face and replaced it with only the bare essentials in makeup before she rushed out the door. She did not care to look beautiful today.

Elizabeth located a transporter just down the hall. Stepping in, she indicated her destination, the Control Room, on the digital layout. The doors let out a soft hiss as they closed around her, and again as they opened. Weir stepped out of the transport even before she noticed her surroundings. She looked up in surprise as she realized she did not stand outside the busy Control Room, but in a dim, dismal section of the Ancient city. Thinking she'd plotted the wrong destination, Elizabeth turned to step back into the transporter, but the sealed doors would not open for anything.

Instinctively, Elizabeth tapped at her ear, signaling for help. "This is Dr. Weir," she stated. "I seem to have sent myself to the wrong destination and the transporter isn't responding. I need to know where I can find an alternate transporter."

She heard no response.

"Hello?" she tried again, but again, heard nothing.

"Great. Just great," she sighed to herself. _After all that's gone wrong the last few days, now I have to go and get myself lost._ Elizabeth wiped a hand over her brow. She didn't have time to panic. She needed to find another transporter and get herself back to the Control Room before she wasted any more time. Rodney obviously needed help, and she would see to it that he got it. _Better get walking,_ she urged herself, trying to recall where the Ancients would have put another transport.

Her steps echoed through the empty corridor as Elizabeth worked her way down the hall. She'd never seen the city so dark, so lonely, as it felt now. Childhood fears of closet monsters and crooked street thugs haunted her, but she forced sense into her mind. _There's nothing here_ , she told herself. _This is Atlantis; there is nothing here that will hurt you._

Elizabeth tried to forget about the nanocite incident that had nearly destroyed her entire expedition a year previous. A transporter, she focused herself, she needed a transporter.

_A flashlight wouldn't hurt either,_ she thought as she continued down the hall.

She felt a sense of relief when she saw light spilling out of a doorway several yards ahead. At least something worked down here, maybe something she could use to contact the Control Room, or a terminal where she could pull up a layout of the city. She certainly didn't want to spend more time than she had to searching for a working transport. Elizabeth breathed in, confident that she could make the best of this unfortunate circumstance. If all she suffered today was a little embarrassment at misdirecting her transporter, well, she'd live.

Elizabeth stopped short at a strange sound—or rather, a sound not so much strange as it was misplaced.

Voices. She could swear she heard voices coming from the lighted room. She took a few cautious steps toward the light just to be sure. Reaching the door frame, she placed a hand on the wall to steady herself as she listened. Shadows moved against the light, a pantomime of two human figures playing along the floor.

"No, no, no!" Rodney insisted, a sharp annoyance in his voice. "What are you trying to do, overload the Naquadah generators? Good one! Let's blow up the whole city while we're at it!"

"Give it a rest, McKay. I'm _trying_ to help!"

Elizabeth sucked in a breath at the familiar voice, distinctly American—a slow rhythm, warm, laid-back, confidant and far too sexy for its own good.

"Hello? Intergalactic super genius, here. I think I know what I'm doing." The scientist hissed back.

"Two words, _Rodney._ Project Arcturus," the second voice sneered.

"Okay, that was a misstep. I admit it and I've apologized for it. Can you please stop holding five-sixths of a solar system over my head, _Colonel_?"

Another pivoting step and Elizabeth found herself in the light, staring into the open doorway. Rodney McKay bent over an Ancient panel, his distracted attention torn between the Lantean control bank and the silver laptop he balanced in his off hand. Another man wearing the grey of the Atlantis military stood next to him, thick arms folded in boredom as the scientist worked.

The second man turned suddenly at her soft footfall. His hazel eyes widened in shock.

"Elizabeth?" John blurted.


	8. Twisting the Knife

Rodney startled at Elizabeth's name so suddenly that the thin pad in his hand nearly slipped from his grasp. He clumsily caught and, hugging it to himself, turned to face the woman. Wide blue eyes studied her in disbelief for an awkward second before he sputtered, "Elizabeth, what… what are you doing down here?"

Overwhelmed, Elizabeth looked straight past Rodney to the pilot at his side. "My god, John!" she blurted as she stared into the eyes of the colonel who, only a day or so before, had lain lifeless in the cold chamber of the Lantean morgue—but this was no corpse that stood before her. From spiky head to booted toe, John looked as vibrant and healthy as he had been the day he left for 895. In fact, John did not simply look all right—unscathed was, perhaps, the better term. He didn't bear so much as scratch where once there had been scorched scars. She tried to step toward him, but the colonel matched her with a cautious step backward, placing Rodney between them. Hazel eyes seemed nervous—fearful, even—and he held out a hand as if to will her to come no further.

Elizabeth drew back a moment, surprised. _Is John… afraid of me?_

"Nice job watching the perimeter sensors, Rodney!" John hissed angrily, sliding a sharp glare in the scientist's direction.

Spurned by John's sharp shot, Rodney grunted, returning the colonel's cold look with a searing glare of his own. "You're the one who sealed off the bulkheads and transports, Colonel. I have been just a little too busy trying to keep a blockheaded flyboy from blowing up the whole city!"

Listlessly, Elizabeth stepped forward again. This was unreal—for three days she had mourned John's passing, yet here he was, fresh as day. She felt elated, and yet a part of her refused to believe. It was just too wonderful to comprehend. "What is this?" she managed, dividing her attention between the scientist and the reborn airman, but neither spoke. "What's going on?" she urged, regaining the strength in her voice. John would not meet her gaze, but again retreated with her every advance. He studied the floor, the ceiling, anything but her. His cheeks reddened in embarrassment—or was it anger? "John!" Elizabeth insisted when he would not respond. "JOHN!"

The colonel opened his mouth to speak, but he could say nothing. She saw then that it was indeed anger boiling within him, silenced only by a look of sincere anguish. He closed his eyes and turned his face away from her. She knew he was not one to voice his emotions, especially not in the presence of other men, but he always had a snappy comeback or profound observation to add—if only to throw her off the scent—but John, for once in his life, had nothing to say.

Rodney, too, made to reply, but upon glancing between the two, he fell into a sober, non-committal silence and idly stared at the floor.

"Dr. Weir," greeted a woman's voice. Startled, Elizabeth spun around, but found no one save the stout scientist. A pale pulse of light filled the small room and suddenly a young woman with crystal blue eyes and blonde hair stepped up to Elizabeth's side. She reminded Elizabeth of cloudless skies and white beaches, glimmering gold and giggling green eyes. "I see you arrived unharmed," she continued.

John lurched forward, glaring at the young woman with all the fury of a hurricane unleashed. "You!" John growled behind clenched teeth, pointing an accusing finger at the blonde. "You did this, didn't you? I said don't tell _anyone_! _ANYONE_!"

"I _told_ her nothing, Colonel Sheppard," the woman replied in a calm, matter-of-fact tone. The kind a nanny used to scold a child on a technicality. "She came to this place on her own."

"Bull!" John snapped, looking as if he wanted to throw something. He stalked toward the smaller woman, tension in his veins. "You pulled her down here. You _led_ her down here! There's no way anyone could get in here without my knowing, I sealed the transports myself!"

"Did you?" the woman asked in a tone that hinted the truth of that statement was clearly up for debate. Biting his lip to quell his anger, John again backed away. Heat and frustration clearly raged under his tight reigns.

Elizabeth felt a headache forming as she tried to piece the scene together. Two people who could not possibly exist stood bickering before her, like a dream come alive. "Anne?" she tested softly.

Rodney's brow scrunched in confusion as he looked to Elizabeth. "Anne? What are you talking about, Elizabeth? Her name isn't…" his eyes widened sharply. "Wait a minute, you _know_ her?" Elizabeth nodded absently, eyes still glued on John. Again, a sense of unreality passed over her. He stood closer now, yet felt farther, like she was looking at him through a telescope. She could see him, and yet she could not feel his warm presence standing within her arms reach. Shock, she told herself. She had to be in shock. She had just buried a man only to find him again, alive and well, hidden in the depths of her city. Color drained from Rodney's face and the laptop slipped a little further out of his grasp before he recovered.

Anne smiled faintly, kindly, as she set her gaze on Elizabeth. "My name is not Anne, Dr. Weir. That was merely the identity your subconscious assigned to me as I attempted to interface with your mind."

Elizabeth blinked absently. "Subconscious…? What is she talking about?" she asked, looking to Rodney.

"As you well know," he replied. "Lantean technology has a mental component that allows the human mind to integrate itself with various systems. Up until this point, we've only discovered technology that works one way—that being mental or thought commands on the part of the user to the device. This program works both ways, receiving and sending information _back_ to the user through that same mental component."

"Then this is, what—a hologram?" Elizabeth asked, motioning to the woman. When Rodney nodded, her eyes turned back on Anne with renewed wonder. "And what exactly is this program— _she_ —supposed to do?"

Rodney glanced to the white clad woman like was a difficult jigsaw puzzle or a game to be solved. "That's where it gets a little complicated. You see, she's actually integrated into the entire system," he explained quickly. "Thereby granting her access to the whole of the city, yet she still requires basic input from the user side in order to initiate and or maintain her influence over…"

"Rodney!" Elizabeth shot in a clipped, warning tone. Accomplished as she was, she had a hard time keeping up with the man when he went into full techno-babble overload.

Still shaken by Elizabeth's sudden appearance, the scientist cleared his throat, trying to will color back into his features. "Dr. Weir," he began shakily, unsurely. He cleared his throat, trying to sound official. "Meet _Atlantis_ —the city's very own Artificial Intellect."

It was Elizabeth's turn to balk in confusion. "Artificial Intellect?" she blurted, stepping forward to examine the other woman more closely. "So she's sentient?"

"About as sentient as a PDA," huffed John. His dark mood had not lifted in light of the conversation.

"Colonel," Rodney responded, borrowing Elizabeth's warning tone. John held up both hands, palms spread and mouth shut, in a show of compliance. Again, he backed off. Whatever unspoken conflict passed between the two, the colonel didn't seem to feel it was worth fighting over outright.

Anne took the opportunity to add in her thoughts. "I am what you might consider an embodiment of the Database of the Lanteans—an avatar, a guide of sorts, to the city. I have access to the full gamut of the database and computer systems of Atlantis, and I can assist you in searching out anything you would wish to know."

Rodney smiled triumphantly. "Google in a sundress."

"As wonderful as this all is," Elizabeth politely added, turning back to the physicist. "What does this have to do with John?" The name suddenly felt odd in her throat. She had worked so hard to remind herself to refer to him in the past tense that, to suddenly switch back to the present, felt pleasant, but odd.

Rodney shot the colonel a worried look, as if asking his permission to share a state secret. John closed his eyes and dropped his head into a hand, but said nothing. Something was going on that they weren't telling her. "Like I said," Rodney rushed to make up for lost time. "It's all very complicated, I think it'd be best if I-"

"Three days ago, my death initiated a resurrection protocol dormant within the city's system which awoke the Atlantis program," John groaned, interrupting the scientist's flustered babbling.

"-Was just getting to that," the smaller man finished in a defeated tone.

"What?" blurted Elizabeth. She stared unbelieving at the renewed Colonel.

"It is true, Dr. Weir," Anne nodded. She looked just as fresh and radiant as Elizabeth recalled from her dream that, apparently, was not a dream. "Colonel Sheppard was the first being of your expedition with suitable genetic characteristics with which to trigger my programming. I can sense another, but Colonel Sheppard was the first."

"Resurrection?" Elizabeth whispered, awestruck. "The Ancients had such technology?"

John shrugged. "Apparently, they built more than just really cool explosives."

Rolling his eyes in annoyance, Rodney shifted his grip on the tablet in his hands. "Short answer, yes, but between the original siege of Atlantis, the super storm, and our last lovely encounter with the Wraith, this sector took a lot of damage. Originally, we wrote it off thinking there was nothing of worth in this section—at least nothing we could readily grasp at the time—but I'm beginning to think the Wraith know more about our fair city than we've been lead to believe."

That piqued Elizabeth's curiosity. She frowned in tempted interest. "How so?"

"You're standing in what was once the central medical sector of Atlantis. The Wraith must have known that and targeted this sector on that assumption," Rodney stood back, spreading arms to present the city. "Carson would have a field day if he knew what half the stuff around here could do!"

Still concerned, Elizabeth folded her arms. She just couldn't shake the sense of unreality. "Why didn't I hear about this sooner?"

"In a way, I think you did. See, this program can communicate in one of two ways. The first being through traditional audiovisual techniques such as the holochamber we found in the central spire. While effective, such holographic technology requires a great deal of power, as we have experienced first hand. That's why the Ancients developed a mental component that links the user directly with the avatar like a… a…"

"PDA?" John offered.

Rodney's shoulders slumped and his jaw tightened with frustration. "I was going to say radio but if you're so obsessed with that analogy then, yes, a PDA. Getting back to the issue at hand, the program wasn't triggered until just a few days ago. At that point the city attempted to use this mental technology to communicate with us."

Elizabeth frowned again. "Us?"

"She talked to me too, but that's beside the point. The technology didn't sync with our minds like it was supposed to."

Again, Anne nodded. "It is difficult for me to commune with those who are incompatible with my programming."

"You mean the Gene?" Elizabeth tilted her head in understanding.

"But that doesn't make sense," Rodney stepped forward. "I _have_ the Gene."

"Artificially," the colonel pressed. Rodney frowned.

Anne, or rather, _Atlantis_ , smiled a comforting smile for the scientist. "You are much like the Lanteans who came before, Dr. McKay, but you are not them," Rodney made a move to protest, but the woman cut him short before he could speak a word. "There is no shame in being what you _are_ ," she added in a pointed tone, and Rodney backed down.

"I'm not sure I understand," Elizabeth stated after Atlantis made her point.

"You have audio devices, these radios, you communicate with, yes?" the avatar asked. Elizabeth nodded. "And you all hear the same thing when one speaks, yes?" Again, Elizabeth nodded in agreement, though unsure where the woman was going with her questions. "And," the other woman asked again. "If your receiver is damaged or lost, you will still hear the same thing, yes?"

Elizabeth thought a moment before answering with a soft, "No. No, I would not." To Elizabeth's surprise, the woman responded in Ancient, or at least something that sounded like Ancient. Elizabeth only understood the basic theme of the woman's speech, but could not translate the specific words—a frustrating experience for one as well versed in language as she.

Rodney spoke up then. "It sounds like some kind of recipe to me," he surmised. "I think it's an ancient form of Ancient."

The doctor shook her head. "No, it's a vow of some kind—a prayer, perhaps?" She had directed the question to Atlantis, but, to her surprise, John responded.

"I do not like green eggs and ham," he replied in a paced rhythm. "I will not eat them, Sam-I-Am."

The missing roots clicked in Elizabeth's mind and she knew, in that moment, John had flawlessly translated the ancient speech. Something tightened in her chest. Something was definitely _wrong_ here. John knew a little Ancient, but he'd be the first to admit the limits of his vocabulary. Daniel Jackson he was not. She searched his eyes for some hint of the truth, but he broke his gaze away, returning it to the avatar.

"I spoke the same thing to you all," Atlantis interrupted the woman's thoughts. "Yet you all heard something different. In this case, it is little different. To you, Dr. Weir, I tried to commune words of hope, of comfort to soothe your ravaged heart. Your bereaved mind, however, interpreted that empathy differently than was intended, not unlike the way you changed my very words just now. You understood the intent, but not the meaning. Similarly, I tried to tell Dr. McKay that he was needed here in this lab, but his mind heard something different as well," she frowned and bowed her head apologetically. "I am sorry, much of my core components have been damaged. Perhaps if they were functioning properly, this would not have happened."

"It's all right," Elizabeth smiled. "But I'm still a little confused. What do you mean by resurrection protocol? Why would you need McKay down here if the body was back in the morgue?"

Atlantis tilted her head, not so much in confusion, but in correction. "Colonel Sheppard was very much alive by the time you both went to visit him, Dr. Weir," she stated, "Though in a deep stasis." When Elizabeth's surprised expression only deepened, Atlantis continued. "As soon as he was placed in the stasis chambers, the sensors within the chamber awakened, as Colonel Sheppard termed it, my 'resurrection protocol'. I knew I could restart his heart with this technology, but I needed Dr. McKay to fix some of my ailing components before I could attempt a full regeneration or I would risk greater harm than good. When he found his way down here, only then was I able to appear to him, as I appear now, to explain this situation directly. He has been working diligently ever since."

Elizabeth patted the Rodney on the back, thanking him for his valiant drive. Still, she could not help but look back at John, as if to reassure herself he was still there. John still did not meet her eyes. "It seems you done a fine job, Rodney."

"Not… exactly…" the scientist mumbled, his features falling into grim sorrow.

"What?" Elizabeth questioned.

"It didn't work," John hissed, the anger in his stance giving way to the anguish. His shoulders drooped and he at last met her eye with his weary hazel.

Elizabeth stopped just short of a whimper. "Excuse me?"

"The whole damn Ancient healing process," he continued, a defeated twinge to his voice. "It didn't work—at least, not as well as it was supposed to." John stared her dead in the eye, even as he stepped away, backward, away from the light. As he retreated and the light faded, he did not step in to shadow. Rather, his imaged faded, withered and grew dim. With a soft pulse of light, just as Atlantis' hologram had appeared, John dissolved into nothingness. Elizabeth startled when the dusty panel at the far end of the room slid back, revealing a small chamber beyond. Within the chamber rested a stasis pod lit with the light of life. Her stomach knotted again as she took stumbling steps into the smaller chamber. Approaching the Ancient pod, she ran a caring hand along its lines, afraid she knew what it contained even before she looked through the glass covering, but she pulled herself forward anyway. Within lay a very beaten, very burned John Sheppard, eyes closed in slumber.

Another pale pulse of light filled the chamber and Atlantis was at her side again. A sheepish Rodney shuffled in, though he kept his distance from the pod. Atlantis bowed her head respectfully, letting Elizabeth study the pod for a few moments before she spoke again. "Unfortunately, Dr. Weir, he speaks the truth," Atlantis stated. Elizabeth studied the face through the glass. There were the damnable scars, the fierce burns and the pale cast of slumber over rugged features. His healthy self been a mirage, a hologram, the entire time. _That's_ why he felt so unreal, _that's_ why she couldn't feel his presence.

Atlantis looked to the sleeping airman. "My medical components were able to revive him, to restart his heart, but I am afraid they are incapable of restoring him to a viable state in their present condition. His mind, as you have seen, remains connected to the outside world via a neural link, however, even in stasis his time remains limited," she looked to Elizabeth. "Eventually his heart will fail."

"Then get Beckett down here!" Elizabeth ordered, unleashing her sudden fury on Rodney. _How could he leave John down here? How could he hide him away if John needed help?_

"To do what, Elizabeth?" he defended. "The pod is the only thing keeping him alive at this point. It's turning his last minutes into his last hours, that's all we can hope for. Taking him out of there would be just the same as killing him!"

"Then get a team down here and fix the equipment! You can have whoever you need."

Rodney gritted his teeth in quiet frustration. "It's not that simple, Elizabeth. Integral systems have been utterly destroyed, and it's not like the Ancients left a garage full of spare parts lying around."

Elizabeth's mind clawed for solutions, for a way out. "What about the sister city we found on…"

"I already considered that," the scientist hissed, more in regret than anger. "If we had the _Daedalus_ and a month to kill, we might be able to come up with something. You can't just drag and drop these parts into place," his shoulders slumped sadly. "Look, you know I want to help more than anyone, but…"

"But the _Daedalus_ is over a week away, and John only has a couple of days," she returned, before her eyes dropped back to the stasis pod. She studied the colonel's scarred features. "Am I right?"

Atlantis nodded slowly, "A day, maybe two." Elizabeth nodded knowingly, and then dropped her head as she traced the glass.

Rodney cleared his throat, suddenly finding it uncomfortable in his present surroundings. He turned his eyes away from the doctor, finding a spot somewhere on the far wall that seemed particularly interesting. "He didn't want anyone else to know," Rodney informed in a horse whisper. "He didn't want anyone to feel guilty, knowing there was nothing else they could do."

Elizabeth's lips turned up in a trembling, bittersweet smile. "We buried him once, why bury him again?" she asked, not really expecting an answer. That sounded like John's logic—efficient and utterly insane.

His eyes dropped again. "…exactly."

She laid a hand on the glass. "If he weren't lying on his death bed, I'd kill him."

"That's why he didn't want you to know," the scientist added. Letting his eyes fall on the sad woman, a wave of brutal honesty washed through him. "You never should have come down here," he murmured.


	9. Haunted Whispers

A pulse of light at the door hailed the colonel's return, but Elizabeth now saw John's image for what it was—merely a hologram. In the dim light, she realized that the man gave off a subtle glow of his own. _Impeccable, truly impeccable,_ Elizabeth thought as she stared at the man in the doorway, wondering how it was that he seemed so real. Even with the stark evidence to the contrary laying there before her, she could not completely believe that John was not standing there in the flesh. He blinked as any man would, shifted as any man would and twitched as any man would. His nervous breaths came short and concentrated, his firm chest rising on the inhale and falling with the exhale. How could this man not be real? She wanted to reach out and touch him—hug him—but knowing her hands would meet only empty air, she settled for wiping a stray tear from her own cheek.

Atlantis seemed to read Elizabeth's thoughts. "His mind has integrated itself with many of the city's systems via a neural link," she explained calmly. "The avatar you see before you is a visual manifestation created through the use of the city's holographic technology. Since it comes from his own mind, his own neural impulses, it reacts as his normal body would. While it is a non-corporeal projection, few sectors remain that can host his presence—or mine—in this form."

"Unbelievable," Elizabeth whispered, her eyes never leaving the digital Sheppard. All the technological discussion appeared to make the colonel very uncomfortable. He crossed his arms and frowned at the Ancient avatar, looking like he just wanted everyone to go home and let him be.

"Yes, fascinating," Rodney muttered. Unwilling to make eye contact with either Elizabeth or John's hologram, he stared at the floor before him.

"No, I meant _you_ are unbelievable," she clarified, narrowing eyes on the colonel—or rather, his ghost. The tall man perked up in surprise. She pointed an accusing finger at the airman. "I can't believe you are going to give up and _die_ without a fight," Elizabeth growled, wheeling around on Rodney. "And _you_ are letting him!"

Rodney squealed in his own defense. "Me?" he blurted, lifting his hands to his chest, protesting his innocence. He pointed to the doorway. "It was _his_ idea! He's the one that wants to go down with the proverbial ship! You think I didn't try to talk him out of it?"

"Over and over and _over_ again," sighed the annoyed colonel. Elizabeth turned her glare on him, but John did not wince or recoil. Instead, he nodded in agreement with the scientist. "He's right, Elizabeth. Leave him out of this."

She shook her head, long curls whipping her cheeks with the force of it. "No! Not until you give me a better reason why you won't let your friends help you!"

John groaned in frustration, but differed to her steadfast resolve. He glanced a quick eye between the scientist and his fellow hologram. Something like embarrassment reddened his cheeks. "Can a dying man get a little privacy here?"

Clearing his throat nervously, Rodney turned his head away and moved for the door. "I should get back to… whatever it was I was doing out there," when John made no effort to get out of Rodney's way, the scientist hesitated only a moment at the door before he closed his eyes and stepped through the hologram. Elizabeth grimaced as the colonel's body parted, fizzled, and then reappeared around Rodney's form. Rodney kept his head down as he plodded on through, the door slid shut behind him. Atlantis gave Elizabeth a subtle, comforting smile before she suddenly winked out of sight, leaving the two in the dim of the second chamber. Both remained quiet for some time while John struggled for his words. It surprised Elizabeth when the man began to pace back and forth. He was a hologram, after all. Since when did a hologram need to work off nervous energy?

"McKay wasn't lying," he stated, trying to look at anything but the stasis pod wherein his body slept toward death. Elizabeth didn't blame him. She had seen herself laying in a similar state, old and weary, waiting for the end to come. It was not an image easily brushed aside, nor forgotten. John looked up with sincerity in his eyes. "That pod is the only thing keeping me alive."

"We don't know that for sure," Elizabeth insisted. "You're not a medical professional, John. Maybe there's something Carson can do…"

John silenced her with a finger. "Elizabeth!" he grunted harshly, too harshly. Surprised, she took a step back. John winced and closed his eyes, trying to regain the calm. "It's over," he finished in a low whisper.

Elizabeth took a deep breath, hoping the man couldn't sense the shakiness she felt within. _Is he seriously making the conscious choice to die?_ She wondered. "Why," she demanded pleadingly. "Why are you doing this, John? What do you have to gain by leaving this way?"

She caught in his eye a sharp glint of sorrow. "Atlantis isn't living up to its destiny," he replied in stiff determination. John motioned around the room as if to encompass the whole of the city. "We don't know what half this stuff does. We're working with tech so high over our heads, we can't see the shelf. We haven't even scratched the surface of what this city can do—and I'm not just talking weapons. If I could show you one-tenth of what Atlantis has shown me in the last few days, you'd wonder what cavemen thought was so great about fire."

"You think I don't know that, John?" she retorted. Wild-eyed, she threw up her hands. "That's why we came here in the first place, to unlock the secrets of the Ancients!"

"Elizabeth, this link does more than let me communicate with you. Right now, I understand this city better than McKay could even dream—and I can manipulate its systems faster than he can think. If this city was working at full capacity, this _body_ wouldn't be an issue," he said, pointing toward the Ancient capsule. "We could build all the Jumpers we'd ever need, we could perfect Carson's retrovirus, and we could _make_ our own ZPMs. This city has all the answers we've been searching for—everything we need is _right here_!"

She didn't respond to him right away. What was the point? He was right, Atlantis could be the saving grace of the Pegasus Galaxy, but there was something more—something he had said without admitting. After a time, she looked him in the eye.

"The shield," she began slowly, catching on. "The fuzzy readings all over the city, the short in the engine pod… That wasn't McKay. That was _you_ , wasn't it?"

The colonel shrunk back a little, sheepish of his own actions. "I couldn't just stand by and do nothing."

"No," she replied. "I doubt you could," she stepped forward to emphasize her point. "You saved a lot of lives, John."

John straightened, also drawing near to enforce his point. "That's what I'm talking about—this city can correct our mistakes even before we make them. Remember the nanocite incident? How the city went into lockdown?"

A perfect brown eyebrow lifted playfully. "And the door?" Elizabeth questioned.

To Elizabeth's surprise, the pilot turned a curious shade of pink, which he then tried to shrug off with a crooked smirk. "Didn't want Goldilocks running off with my stereo."

"And Kavanaugh?" she asked, seriousness returning to her tone.

The colonel shook his head sharply. "Now _that_ was all McKay. I had nothing to do with it—except for the fact Kavanaugh stumbled on McKay springing a certain undead lieutenant colonel from the morgue."

"Rodney slugged him to keep him quiet?"

"Well, no," John scratched the tip of his ear. "Not exactly."

"So how did he end up unconscious?"

John folded his arms casually, as if trying to recall a half-heard story. "I'm not entirely too sure myself, but McKay might have _accidentally_ discharged a stunner and Kavanaugh might have _accidentally_ bounced his head off something blunt on the way down."

The woman shook her head slowly, trying to fight off a smile of her own. "You two are unbelievable."

"So is this city," John replied in a soft, reassuring tone. "And Atlantis—Anne—can help us," John caught himself as if he had misspoken, pulling away suddenly. "You," he corrected. "Atlantis can help _you_. She doesn't just _know_ a lot about the city, she _is_ the city. Can you imagine what kind of an asset that would be?"

Elizabeth held up a hand to silence him. "I'm not denying the significance of Rodney's work down here, John; I just don't see how this involves you wasting away down here."

"The city requires someone with the Ancient Gene to fix the Ancient program—or, more specifically…"

" _Your_ genes," she finished.

"This Gene thing is more complicated than Carson thinks. I have a special constellation of genes. I think it might have something to do with how I interact with the Ancient systems. Regardless, without me it'll take him months, if not _years_ , to enable the whole system."

"Which is why you should be doing everything you can to stay alive, John!"

"This _is_ everything I can do to stay alive, Elizabeth!" he retorted. "By all rights, I should be pushing up space daisies right now, but the Ancients bought me some extra time. There's a chance that Atlantis can bring the right systems back online herself if Rodney can restore the proper elements, but it means the both of us have to be down here working the controls. I can't do that lying in the infirmary, watching Carson pull his hair out."

"All right," Elizabeth conceded, defeat drifting into her voice. "I can respect that, but why keep it a secret? Couldn't Zelenka's team help out with this?"

John's shoulders slumped slightly, eyes trailing to the pod beside him. Clearly, he was having a hard time voicing his thoughts. "There's just too much to do, I couldn't begin to explain to them what has to be done to salvage this program. Either the city comes through, or she doesn't. It's that simple. Rodney can handle everything else. Besides," he sighed heavily. "You said it yourself. I'm already dead to them. Given the choice of a slow, wasting demise or a hero's death, I'd rather be remembered like a hero," he looked up to her. "That was a nice ceremony, by the way. I'm touched."

Elizabeth barely acknowledged his compliment. "You will always be a hero to us, John. Nothing will ever change that."

Again, John shifted uncomfortably. "I won't put everyone through that again. They don't deserve that kind of guilt."

"But Rodney does?" she spat, folding her arms tightly over her chest. "You want Rodney to bear this kind of burden alone?"

"I didn't exactly have a choice in the matter," defended the pilot, the accusation in Elizabeth's voice stirred a subtle anger within him. "By the time I came around, the damage was already done."

Elizabeth balked. "I can't believe you just said that!"

"Elizabeth, please," he insisted, clenching his eyes shut to hold back his frustration. "I'm as good as gone anyway," he finally eased. "At the very least I have this one last chance to do something useful, something that might help you strike a blow to the Wraith. The sooner we can get Atlantis—Anne—up and running, the better for everyone. She can coach McKay on how to run the city. He may not like it, but I think he'll grow to…"

John's voice cut out as he swayed and stumbled a step backward. Elizabeth shot forward to steady him, but her hands found only empty air as his image fizzled. All light left his form, he blinked out of existence and suddenly Elizabeth was alone in the dim chamber.

"John… John?" she called, panic rising in her chest. Her eyes darted around the room for a sign of the pilot, but the only John Sheppard she found slept his last moments away in the long stasis pod, unmoved by her calls.

"It is all right, Dr. Weir," Anne's voice soothed. Her bright figure appeared at Elizabeth's side, blonde locks and all, as if nothing had happened. She looked to the worried leader with compassion in those blue eyes—the same compassion Carson showed to his patients when they landed themselves in the Infirmary. "John is fine, I assure you," she turned caring eyes on the form within the pod. "Today's events have overtaxed him. He must rest now, as must Dr. McKay, if he is to be of any further use."

"What about the repairs?" Elizabeth questioned concern in her voice.

Anne shook her head dismissively. "He is a faithful worker, Dr. Weir. Even now, his task is almost complete. I am confident he will finish in the given time," she held a hand toward the door, which slid open of its own accord. "Please, return him to his quarters. This city cannot lose the both of them—not now. You will find the transport that brought you here will guide you back to your expedition without fail," Anne's voice said she had finished, though she moved closer to Elizabeth as if to speak important, private words. "However," she added. "There is one other concern of a personal nature I think I must discuss with you, Doctor."

Elizabeth smiled humorlessly. "How you invaded my dreams?"

"Correct," Anne nodded, returning her bright eyes to Elizabeth. "Believe me, I meant no harm, nor did I intend to spy on private thoughts. It is merely what you might call a side-effect of the two-way process. When I first connected with the colonel, I sensed his thoughts as well—explored them—trying to learn all I could of you and your people so as to better interact with your kind. Although I suppose one cannot be held accountable for what he dreams when he lies on his last bed, his were most intriguing" Elizabeth stared at the still features of John's face as the woman continued. He seemed little different than he had appeared in the morgue, physically speaking, at least. This time, however, he did not lay so much in silence as much as in secrecy—like he had something to say, but honor would not allow him to confess. "Often, when one is so faced with impending demise, their thoughts turn to loved ones, those who have passed before, or to those far away, but not John Sheppard."

Feeling almost like an intruder in a man's private thoughts, Elizabeth questioned the Lantean avatar. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because when I first sensed his thoughts, he dreamed not of personal glory or regret, as men often do, but for the safety of his people, and for one woman to find her way through this galactic darkness, to find happiness without him. That woman was you, Elizabeth." Anne stated it with such shocking clarity that Elizabeth could not help but startle at her voice, but the city's artificial intellect did not betray a single emotion, if she had any in the first place. "When I saw that I could not revive him to his former state, I thought at least I could help to make that last wish come true. I examined what data I had of you, looking for what brought you joy—but, upon closer observation, I realized the only thing that made you truly happy," Anne turned back to the battered, sleeping form. "Was him."

Elizabeth bristled, straightening sharply. "Now wait a minute…"

Anne held up a silencing hand. "It is all right, Doctor, you have rules. I will tell no one. I merely wished to apologize. Through that desire, I caused your subconscious mind to dream—to ease your burden—but I see now it has only caused you more pain. I am sorry. If you would let me, perhaps there is something I can do to," she paused, looking for the right words. "To make it up to you," she used the term as if it were foreign or unfamiliar to her.

"My only concern right now is getting Colonel Sheppard out of that stasis pod and back on his feet," she replied firmly. "Is there nothing else you can do for him?"

"Sadly, no," Anne replied. "Not until Dr. McKay completes his task. Even then, his chances remain minimal, at best," the hologram stated it so simply. To her, John's life or death was no more than mere fact. "However, it is possible that I could allow him to leave something behind."

Elizabeth's brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't understand what you mean. What could he possibly leave behind that would compensate for such a loss?"

"Even with the current state of this sector's repair, it is possible to copy his thought patterns—his consciousness, so to speak—into the city's memory. In doing so, I could replicate an artificial intellect of him that could, in time, replace or assist my own. While his body would still die, a part of him would remain alive within the city itself, serving as a caretaker and able to manipulate its systems even as he does now."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"In more simplistic terms," Anne continued. "John Sheppard would become the heart and mind and will of Atlantis."

Elizabeth could not help but laugh softly as she traced the lines of the stasis pod, her hand trailing the smooth glass that separated her from her faithful, if not bullheaded, second-in-command. She paused a finger over his lips. "A guardian angel," she whispered.

Anne knew the statement begged no reply, but added one last word of advice to the wistful woman. "One other matter before you leave, Dr. Weir," the hologram's eyes turned eerily serious. "So long as he remains in that chamber, Colonel Sheppard commands this city. If anyone else besides yourself or Dr. McKay ventures into this sector against his wishes, you _will_ lose control of Atlantis."


	10. A Radiant Shadow

Thud. Thud. Thwack.

Thud. Thud. Thwack.

Rodney awoke to the sound of something beating against the wall of his quarters—a soft, steady sound as smooth as clockwork. The scientist felt a tickle on his cheek and idly wiped a trail of drool from his mouth. Something tugged at his memory—he was supposed to do something important, but the fog of waking blurred his stumbling thoughts and he could focus on nothing. He knew only the soft, subtle pounding.

Thud. Thud. Thwack.

Thud. Thud. Thwack.

With a yawn, he rolled over in his bed, trying to block out the persistent sound. Rodney pulled a pillow over his ear—whomever or whatever it was would just have to wait until morning. His stiff body felt like he had slept for days, though it could not have been more than a few minutes at best. After all, he had only just lain down, hadn't he? Rodney almost purred as he snuggled back down into the comfort of his sheets, drawing the blankets close about him. With a bit of effort, he cracked his eyes open. Bright sunlight filled his chambers with a cheery golden low, warming his pale skin.

_Crap, it is morning,_ he murmured inwardly, nestling into his pillow. He caught only a fleeting glimpse of some dim form that shared his bed. Then it all came back to him—the last three days, the last thrust for salvation, last _night_. McKay sat bolt upright as his eyes flew open in sheer surprise. Beside him lay six feet of Air Force muscle packed in standard grey battle dress—combat boots and all.

"Morning, sunshine," John greeted, idly bouncing a rubber ball off the far wall. It hit the wall, bounced to the ground, then leapt back into his waiting hand.

Thud. Thud. Thwack.

Thud. Thud. Crash.

Rodney knocked the lamp from his night stand as he instinctively scuttled backward, inadvertently tossing himself out of bed. He hit the floor hard, a mess of tangled sheets and flailing limbs as he scrambled for some shred of sanity in his panicked confusion.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he sputtered, trying to kick his feet free of the sheets that had followed him to the floor.

The colonel did not so much as bat an eye at Rodney's unceremonious butt-plant, keeping his concentration on the ball. "What's the point of being omnipresent if I can't use it to annoy people?" he tossed the ball again.

Thud. Thud. Thwack.

Thud. Thud. Thwack.

Rodney clenched his eyes shut. He had not been awake five minutes, yet he sensed a gnawing headache sprouting from the base of his skull. "How," he added. "I mean how did you get here? I haven't even started on the projector repairs yet."

John had a way of shrugging with his lip that made the scientist want to throw something sharp at him and, if the colonel was not conveniently disembodied at the moment, he just might have. "Well, when you weren't in the Lab raring and ready to go first thing this morning, I decided to go ahead and reroute a few circuits myself."

Thud. Thud. Thwack.

"You did _what_?" Rodney blurted, shooting forward. A chill on his legs reminded him he'd only worn the bare essentials to bed last night. Wearing only a t-shirt and boxers, he felt almost naked in front of the airman—even if the airman himself was little more than a few beams of light. He scrambled to pull a blanket over his exposed skin.

John just kept bouncing his ball. "You do realize I'm fused with the damn _bilioth'eca A'lantus_ , right?"

Thud. Thud. Thwack.

Pulling himself to his feet, Rodney tried his best to shuffle for his clothes. His pants lay in a heap on the floor at the foot of his bed, Rodney being too tired the night before to find anywhere else to toss them. "I know you can access the Database…" he began, but dropped the sheets at the sound of the foreign words. _Bilioth'eca?_ Surprised, he whipped around to face the colonel. "Did you just speak Ancient?"

"…No," John denied.

Thud. Thud. Thwack.

Feeling the cool breeze once again, Rodney pawed for his sheets, wrapping them around his person with decisive, indignant tugs. "Yes, you did! You just said 'Library Atlantis', that must have been what the Ancients called the Database…" the scientist trailed off, watching the ball again bounce off his chamber wall. "Would you _stop that_?" he barked, glaring at the colonel.

"Chill out, McKay," John eased, but he did not cease his motion. "I'm a hologram, it's not like I can _break_ anything."

Thud. Thud. Thwack.

Rodney crossed his arms defiantly, pulling the sheet around him almost like a cape. "That's my point. You _are_ a hologram, at least for the time being, which means you shouldn't be able to interact with the physical environment!"

"You really aren't a morning person, are you, Rodney?" John drew his arm back and whipped the ball at McKay, who cringed tightly, pulling the sheet over his head to protect himself. The small rubber-looking ball passed through the scientist, bounced off the wall behind, returned through his form and landed square in the colonel's palm. "It's called an overactive imagination, McKay, now would you get up and get ready?"

"All right, all right!" Rodney snapped, quickly feeling his chest just to make sure nothing was out of place. He bent for the crumpled pile. "Sheesh. Even laying on your deathbed, you're still a pain in the…"

" _Clunes_?"

Grumbling, Rodney snatched his grey trousers. The colonel cleared his false throat and diverted his eyes elsewhere while Rodney shimmied into the pants. "I save a man from certain death and this is the thanks I get?"

"I wouldn't break out the wine just yet, Rodney," murmured the colonel.

"Elizabeth's right, Colonel," Rodney quickly redid the clasp on his cloth belt. "There's still time, there's still a chance. Maybe if we let Team Fumbles move in on it…"

"Three percent," John stated without a twinge of emotion.

Confused, Rodney replied, "Three percent what?"

"That's my chance of survival," the pilot explained bluntly, turning the ball in his hand. "Not to mention the fact that I may never walk again, among other activities. Locked in the infirmary, strapped to a bed—what kind of life is that?" he let the ball fly again.

Thud. Thud. Thwack.

Thud. Thud. Thwack.

The scientist stopped his shifting, staring back at the colonel with wide blue eyes. "My god, you really _have_ given up, haven't you?"

John rolled his eyes as if to brush off a mother's henpecking. "I'm saying you two shouldn't get your hopes up. It's bad enough you had to be involved in this, but…" John trailed off suddenly. He went to toss the ball again, but couldn't summon the strength to let it fly.

"But? But what?" Rodney insisted, his face reddening with frustration. He took a few striding steps to face him directly. "You think I want to sit here and waste what could be your last breath just to reprogram some stupid alien software? You think I can watch a man—a good friend—die a miserable, painful death and just brush it off, but Elizabeth can't handle it? Hmm? Is that it?"

"It was never a question of who could or couldn't handle it, Rodney," John growled.

"What, you jut wanted to see how long I'd keep quiet?" Rodney stomped back across the room to recover his jacked, which he had thrown over a chair next to his bed. He shoved his arms through the sleeves, huffing angrily.

John made little attempt to apologize, but offered calmly, "If I could have stopped her, I would have."

The scientist pulled the rest of the coat over his back. "Are we talking about Atlantis, or Elizabeth?"

The other man's head snapped up. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, narrowing his eyes on the smaller man.

Again, Rodney turned toward the colonel, pulling and patting himself into a presentable shape. "I know you have this whole self-sacrificial thing going on that really wins points with the ladies, but when the time comes, you shut out the people you need most—people who want to help you, people who are _overqualified_ to help you. And I'm not just talking about the myriad of degrees she and I—well, mostly I—hold between us."

"Well ain't you the grand-daddy of all liars," the colonel laughed. "You tune people out like the world is a damn T.V."

"Yes," Rodney hissed. "I am the _king_ of self-righteousness and as king I'm saying it's a damn crappy way to treat people."

That seemed to give the colonel pause for thought. He tossed the ball several times while contemplating Rodney's words.

Thud. Thud. Thwack.

Thud. Thud. Thwack.

Thud. Thud. Thwack.

Thud. Thud. Thwack.

Just when Rodney thought he couldn't take another round of the noise, it stopped and John spoke again. "She's been through a lot already. She doesn't need to watch a man die again, not when she can't do anything to save him."

Rodney's eyes widened at that, as if some great mystery of life had just unraveled itself before him. "That's what this is about, isn't it?" Rodney paused, thinking. His voice grew soft and quick as the man whispered more to himself than to the colonel. He looked off into the distance. "Of course, why didn't I see it before?" he wondered. "I mean, I guess I've always known where she stood—after all, she went though hell to get you promoted. How could there be any doubt?"

John sat forward abruptly. "She what?"

The question was lost amidst Rodney's adamant babbling. "But you? You're a much harder read my friend," he continued with a sly smile and shaking a knowing finger. "And here I thought you only went for Ascended women."

"Rodney, what the hell are you talking about?" John questioned, curiosity and something like panic brewing in his tone. "What's this about a promotion? What did Elizabeth do?" he asked again, but the scientist only smiled to himself.

Mumbling to himself, Rodney made for the door. "This is big. I mean, way big! Bigger than big!"

"Rodney!" John called, but he had already disappeared out the door.

oOo

White coated medical personnel scurried out of the way as Ronon Dex escorted a very tired-looking Teyla Emmagan through the maze of the Atlantis Infirmary. Carson Beckett looked up from his desk at the quiet commotion, recognizing the unspoken fear cast by his hurried med staff. Ronon never spent much time in the Infirmary, but what quality time he did spend within its confines usually involved a lot of growling at his nurses. It wasn't that he particularly hated them, or that he felt threatened by them in any way, he just didn't want them getting soft on him. The doctor usually put him in a private room, but that only made the situation worse, really. Most of the nurses, male and female, were petrified to stand in the same room alone with the Satedan—it felt like changing the bandages on a caged tiger.

"Hello, Doctor Beckett," Teyla tried to smile in greeting, but managed only a subtle turn of her lip. Ronon only glowered.

"Teyla, Ronon," the doctor greeted softly, rising to his feet. It felt like ages since he had seen them last, though it had really only been a day or so. "What brings you here?"

"Dr. Kavanaugh," Teyla replied. "Is he well enough?"

Carson nodded. "Oh aye, he's got a nasty cut on the head, but it's not too deep—didn't even need stitches. He'll be fine," the Scotsman motioned the two to follow him. "He's over this way,"

Obediently, Ronon and Teyla fell in step behind Carson as he led them to a fresh bed in the back of the infirmary where Kavanaugh lay. A nurse tended to a bandage holding a compress to the back of the man's head, his long hair hanging over his shoulders. The two both thought it odd to see Kavanaugh without his trademark ponytail. It felt like watching the man take a bath. Teyla tried to smile to ease the awkwardness, but any thoughts of embarrassment, however, vanished with the man opened his mouth.

"Oh, what's this?" Kavanaugh sniped when he caught site of the two aliens. "They're sending you two to interrogate me now?"

Teyla heard Ronon growl something unpleasant, causing Kavanaugh's face to pale, but Teyla set a hand on the Runner's shoulder in a silent plea to back off. The nurse tending Kavanaugh's head wound finished her task quickly and hurried off, not wanting to end up in the middle of any battle involving the Satedan.

"Easy, son," Carson warned, turning his eyes on Ronon. "This is a place a'healin'. You can either mind yer manners, or ye can wait outside," Ronon's glare never left Kavanaugh, but the way he eased his weight away from the bed seemed to concede compliance, at least for the moment.

With Ronon settled, Teyla turned her attention back to the scientist. "Dr. Kavanaugh, we wish only to ask you a few questions about what happened. You must understand we only have the best interests of yourself and others at heart here."

Kavanaugh almost rolled his eyes. "That sounds like something Dr. Weir would say. I'm surprised she's taken such an interest, unless she's disappointed I survived."

"Dr. Weir did not order this investigation," Teyla stated, trying with all her strength to ignore the man's caustic attitude. Why he had decided to stay in the city following the incident with the Goa'uld sabotage of the Ancient city was simply beyond her. Kavanaugh had been all but accused of treason, yet now he seemed to wear that sting like a badge, lording it over his co-workers—not to mention Dr. Weir. Pushing that aside, Teyla continued. "Her transport malfunctioned and she spent the better part of the night trying to work her way back to the Expedition."

"How convenient for her," the scientist smirked.

Teyla gritted her teeth, forcing a calm, pleasantly unreadable mask across her features. She may as well just get on with it. "Dr. Kavanaugh, your research stations are on the other side of the tower. What were you doing around the morgue?"

"I picked up on some energy spikes in the city's energy consumption," he replied, as if reciting from the witness stand. "With most of my team distracted with the preparations for Colonel Sheppard's memorial service, I had no choice but to follow up on the reports myself."

"And these _spikes_ came from the morgue?" she asked suspiciously.

"Well that's what I was _trying_ to figure out, before Dr. McKay jumped me!"

Carson, Ronon and Teyla each startled at the statement. "Jumped you?" Carson asked. "Why on earth would he do such a thing?"

"You mean besides the fact he hates my guts?" Kavanaugh hissed, but none of his visitors paid him any sympathy. Setting his jaw, he added, "All I remember is walking in and finding McKay messing with the stasis pods. McKay _freaked_ the moment he saw and pulled a stunner, then I woke up with this," Kavanaugh pointed to the bandage at his head. "I think it's safe to say that McKay has utterly lost it. He needs some _serious_ psychiatric help. Bare minimum, he should be locked up in the brig."

"Don't count on it," Ronon growled, enticing the smaller man, but Teyla was at the Runner's arm, calming him before the scientist could respond.

"He means to say no one has seen Dr. McKay since this incident," the woman insisted, her warning tone clearly directed more at Ronon than the injured man. When Ronon calmed, Teyla turned again to the scientist. She desperately tried to convey a neutral presence. "Dr. Kavanaugh, please, do you have any clue what he was doing in the morgue?"

Kavanaugh glared at her. "I don't particularly _care_. The man is _crazy!_ "

Ignoring the man's attitude but not his point, Teyla turned from Kavanaugh to the Scotsman. "Dr. Beckett," she questioned calmly. "Did you or your team notice anything strange following the incident?"

Carson thought carefully, but slowly shook his head. "I can't say that we did. I don't know why Dr. McKay would be in there in the first place, we had already transferred the Colonel's body to his coffin well before the ceremony."

"Of this you are sure?"

"Of course," Carson stated. "I moved him myself. Broke mah heart, but I had to make sure everything was done proper. And I assure you, there was nothing McKay could have done. Had me eye on the stasis chambers the whole time the colonel was in there."

"And did you notice any of these… spikes?" Teyla asked.

"No, none. It's been perfectly normal for the last few days. It's kept the colonel remarkably preserved. Rigor mortis had only just begun to set in when we…" the doctor's eyes dropped momentarily. "Dressed him for the ceremony."

"And I'm telling you the morgue has been sucking power like a leech!" Kavanaugh cut in forcefully.

Carson returned the man's statement with a stern insistence of his own. "We've been getting' crazy readings all over the city for days!"

Sensing another confrontation, Teyla eased the tensions with a compromise. "Perhaps it would be best if we investigated this morgue, perhaps the answer to your question lies therein?"

The medical doctor hesitated for a moment, thinking over Teyla's offer. Looking first to the woman then to her taller teammate, he finally nodded. "Aye, all right—but we take Dr. Zelenka."

Kavanaugh smirked again. "Why, you don't trust me?" he sneered.

"No," Carson shot back pointedly. "Because I don't trust Ronon. He's liable to rip yer head from yer shoulder if I so much as turn my back for a moment."

Again, Kavanaugh's face paled. Teyla sighed and glared toward Ronon, who grinned wildly as Carson steered him toward the door.

oOo

Mid-morning sun beamed in through the windows of the Gaterium, lighting the Control Room with a cheery bright. Normally such an undeniably beautiful day inspired good cheer and camaraderie among Elizabeth's crew, but today their footfalls seemed heavier, shoulders bent in sorrow, and no one seemed quite up to speed. Watching the slow traffic from her office windows, Elizabeth had to consciously remind herself that they had only buried the colonel two days ago. No one else in Atlantis suspected John slept in stasis beneath the city, and no one ever would, if John had his way.

In the gate room below, Major Lorne briefed a team readying for departure. As much as she wished life could just grind to a halt for all eternity, giving Rodney the chance to rebuild the city twice-over, they had to move on. The major made a good commander; faithful, patient, good with the men, stern where needed. He had also done a remarkable job picking up her slack in the last few days. Military types were good at that, trudging on through sorrow and pain, their chins straight and heads held high. Elizabeth knew Lorne had seen a lot of action in his career. He had served in the SGC for a couple of years before transferring to Atlantis and, in that time, had seen a fellow teammate killed and strung up like a scarecrow by a pack of the Neanderthal-like Unas. That kind of thing stuck with a man.

Yes, Lorne was a good soldier—Steven Caldwell, too—but the thought of anyone but John at the helm of the great battle city caused a cold tremble in her gut. Atlantis without John Sheppard—unthinkable—yet the alternative did not seem as attractive as she had first thought it to be. True, Atlantis could give them _a_ John Sheppard, or at least a remnant of him. Elizabeth pictured the colonel serving as the city's heart and soul. John had a good military mind; his strategies had saved the city on more than one occasion. Having a city that could fight like him would be more than an asset. He knew how his men worked, knew how Rodney worked, and knew what needed to be done to bring the city back to life.

She frowned at that thought. _Back to life_. Through John's ultimate sacrifice, Atlantis could live again, yet somehow the trade-off just didn't seem a fair one.

Even with the holographic technology, even with the artificial intellect, it would never be more than a radiant shadow of John Sheppard. He could think, laugh, joke, smile, act and respond as she had always know him to—like a stubborn genius of a fool—but it would not be him. The _real_ John would perish, breath his last, and fade into what lay beyond, never to fly again. The shadow he left would never age, never change, never be more than a snapshot of a man, never more than a figment of the city's imagination.

A John Sheppard that could think but not feel, learn but never understand, observe but never see—a John Sheppard that would walk and talk, but never breathe.

A John Sheppard she couldn't shove up against a wall and kiss until his breath burned within her chest.

Shaking her head, Elizabeth stopped that image in its tracks. She couldn't risk thinking that way. Thinking like that could get her into trouble— _heart_ trouble, to say the least. Sheppard was her…

Elizabeth blinked. What _was_ he? He wasn't her second-in-command, not anymore, nor was he her subordinate. As far as Stargate Command was concerned, John Sheppard died in the field. No rule—military or otherwise—bound her now, so who could condemn her for a little dream?

Wearily, the woman rubbed at her forearms. She yearned to get back down there beneath the city, if only to watch Rodney work. At least then she could feel like she was doing something useful, like she wasn't just cooling her heels in her office, but the city needed her, too. Besides, someone needed to cover for Rodney. She had a hard enough time convincing Lorne to call off the search, and Carson still stood convinced that Rodney had passed out in a hypoglycemic coma somewhere, but the two trusted her enough to obey—even if it clashed with their better judgment. She told them he just needed time himself, time to sort things out in his own way. As long as he personally checked in with her, she would let him be.

Neither of them needed to know _she_ was the one who did the checking in.

It was not an excuse that would last long, but she only needed a day or two. Then Rodney's sad task would be over and John would either be in the Infirmary getting an earful from his team, or lost to another world.

Something within told her the latter seemed more likely than the former, but she could not give up hope just yet. The city needed him, too.

"Elizabeth?"

When the woman looked up, she caught a reflection in the glass that nearly knocked her knees out from under her. A ghost of a man shone off the Lantean glass. Elizabeth turned to see John standing in front of her desk, arms crossed and looking as intense as ever.

"John?" She whispered, again marveling at the almost-magic that let him stand there before her, even though he lay so far away.

The colonel set his jaw, lifting an eyebrow. His low, rumbling voice sounded in cold determination. "I think we need to talk."


	11. Lay Down My Defenses

A subtle fury burned in John's eyes. He worked to cage what boiled beneath his stoic exterior—a cold rage. Elizabeth quickly moved to block him, placing herself between the colonel and the glass door. Anyone chancing to look toward her office from the Control Room would see only her back and some indiscernible figure—certainly not a specter of their late military commander. As much as she wanted to scream from the heights of Atlantis that John still lived, albeit confined to the sanctuary of the old medical sector, Elizabeth had made a promise that she did not intend to break. John needed time and cooperation, Rodney needed peace and undistracted concentration. Their 'invisibility' could give them that. She would wait until the scientist fixed the city and, by association, the pilot, before she gave them both a piece of her mind. Elizabeth promised herself she would be angry when John slipped out of that pod—roaring angry, in fact—though the anticipation of the heated frustration faded as she faced the colonel's expectant eye.

"When the hell were you going to tell me?" John hissed, glaring down at her.

Bristling, Elizabeth blinked in surprise. "Tell you about what?"

John took a step forward, narrowing his gaze. Elizabeth fought the urge to step back, to give him ground, but reminded herself that this John did not exist—at least not in the physical sense, anyway. "That I'm only here because you stonewalled Landry and the other brass into giving me the position," he replied. "Is that why Caldwell's been breathing down my neck for the last year?"

The fading anger surged back to the forefront of Elizabeth's thoughts. Only the men assembled within that SGC briefing room that day knew the details of the incident and she had expected it to remain that way—she certainly hadn't told anyone—but she should have anticipated the newswouldfind its way to the colonel's pointed ears. Elizabeth crossed her arms in stern defiance. "You're here because you're a valuable asset to this expedition and this command, _Colonel_. Contrary to popular belief, I kind of like having you around," she tapped her arms with impatient fingers. "Besides that, I didn't feel like breaking in another commanding officer. You were hard enough to train."

A sardonic smile spread across the colonel's features. "Contrary to popular belief, I like _being_ around, but this is my career you're toying with."

"Your career, John?" she blurted. "You're laying in medical stasis and you want to talk about your _career_? What about your _life_?"

"My career _is_ my life, Elizabeth," he replied.

Elizabeth shook her head slowly, green eyes stabbing daggers into his own, a wave of disgust ripped through her gut. "How dare you… Rodney's down there fighting for your life and all you care about is rank? If that's really what you think, I hope he pulls you out of this so I can boot you back to McMurdo myself!"

John flustered slightly at her threat. A cloud passed over his face, taking the gust of anger with it. Calmed, but no less frustrated, the colonel sagged—his defeated eyes searching the floor for answers. "I didn't mean it like that," he confessed softly. "My career was over before we even met. You went out on a limb requesting my transfer here in the first place," he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, a nervous habit he'd picked up over the years. Again, Elizabeth could not help but wonder how one image could so mimic flesh and blood. "I wouldn't have a career to screw up—again—without you. I guess, in a way, I owe you."

A peace took her at the colonel's words, the anger of their past argument all but forgotten. _He has to be frightened out of his mind,_ she told herself. _Faced with his own death—again!_ Elizabeth promised herself she would be angry later—much, much later—but for now she would wallow in sympathy. "Then what are you here about? Shouldn't you be helping McKay?"

"Omnipresent, remember?" the airman smirked, though his demeanor lightened only ever so slightly. He always tried to make light of the lunacy. It wasn't until that moment that Elizabeth realized he had always been her guiding light amidst the madness. "Besides," he sighed. "McKay's almost done. It won't be long now."

Elizabeth nodded tightly. "Then I should get down there."

John bit his bottom lip. "Yeah," he said in a way that hinted he wasn't quite done with her yet. "Look, there's another reason I wanted to pop by, something I didn't get the chance to say last night. I guess I've always known it, but I didn't realize it until I talked to McKay just now," John fell silent, looking like he wanted to continue but feared her reaction.

"I'm listening," she stated in her best out-with-it tone.

"I lied about why I didn't want anyone to know about all this—about the whole coming back from the dead thing—specifically why I didn't want _you_ to find out about all this," John began to stumble over his words, straining with the effort. "I guess I didn't so much lie as much as I didn't tell you the entire truth. I mean it when I said I didn't want anyone blaming themselves over this—you least of all," John's eyes looked up to meet hers. Something soft shone in his gaze. "I know you want to blame yourself for sending us out there. It was my operation, no one else's, though you might want to ask Lorne to consider utilizing Jumpers on any and all first-contact missions…"

"No," Elizabeth cut him off curtly. "You can tell him yourself, John, when Rodney gets you out of this."

He shot her a darting glare. "Elizabeth, this may be our very last argument. The least you could do is let me win."

"Don't start talking like that!" warned the woman, worry mixing with command. _What the hell is he thinking? McKay would get him out of this or… or he just had to._ "You're not dead yet!"

"See! This is exactly my point!" the colonel slipped back into a forceful tone. "You're going to deny it every step of the way, right until the end, but you're only setting yourself up for disappointment."

"Of course I'm going to fight it!" Elizabeth retorted just as heatedly. She dropped her voice so as not to attract the attention of the crew outside, but she lost no strength in her speech. She leaned in close to drive home her point. "As long as there is a snowball's chance in Hell you can make it out of that capsule alive, we are going to do everything we can to make sure that happens!"

"Even if it means I'm bedridden?" he replied sharply, ice chilling his tone. "Or deformed? Or paralyzed for the rest of my life?"

Elizabeth took a step back. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "No, John. We are _not_ having _that_ conversation—not again, _never_ again!"

John studied her for a quiet, intense moment. "Then I guess we're done talking."

"I guess so," Elizabeth conceded with a subtle sigh. She was not conceding defeat, but she saw no point in arguing. What good did it do? Everything depended on Rodney and the Atlantis program now. She could do nothing to sway the colonel's chances. John did not reply, but turned away from her gaze. She stared at the faux fabric of his back, tracing the path of his spine with her eyes when a soft chirp in her ear broke the still silence.

"Elizabeth," Rodney's voice called out. "It's done."

That was it. That was Rodney's signal to Elizabeth that he had completed the secret task assigned to him by the city of the Ancients. Rodney McKay now stood ready to activate the Lantean A.I. that had slept within the city for so very long. Only time would tell if Atlantis could now save the colonel's life.

"All right, Rodney. Thank you. I'll be down there shortly," she replied, trying not to sound as if a life depended on Rodney's work. Hesitantly, she moved for the door, but John turned to stop her. He held out a hand, forgetting for the moment he could not touch her. It passed through her shoulder like sunlight through a screen door. Again, frustrated, he pulled back his arm, tucking his hand into his pocket.

"There's one last thing I have to say before Rodney throws the switch and it's something I've been meaning to say for a while, so don't interrupt, okay?" John paused again, but Elizabeth only stared at him in response. The colonel smiled nervously, idly rubbing at his chest as if he felt an itch he could not quite scratch. "I just wanted you to know," he began, but seemed to lose command of his voice for a moment. The recessed lighting in Elizabeth's office flickered. Concerned, Elizabeth looked around. Something had happened out in the Control Room too, but no one raised a panic. She hoped it had just been a hiccup in the system.

John, too, paused to take in the moment, but when things remained calm for a good minute, he continued. He was sweating now. The itch at his chest intensified and John held the heel of his hand to his heart. He clenched his eyes shut, forcing his words out through sheer determination. "To know that, whether I make it through this or not…"

Lights both inside the office and the Control Room flickered wildly, circuits dancing between blackout and overload. A violent shudder shook the city and Elizabeth had to struggle to keep her footing. John's image warbled before her and the man fell to his knees.

"John!" Elizabeth shot forward to help, but her hands met only air. Worriedly, she stared down at the image of Colonel Sheppard—crumpled, panting and hugging his chest—yet trying with all his strength to speak.

"Damn it, not now," he begged so softly, Elizabeth could barely make out his words. He spoke not to her, but to someone else. "Five more minutes with her and I swear I'll go willingly." Another deep shudder shook the city.

"John?" Elizabeth called again helpless as John's form fizzled, warped and withered before her.

Through a strained and fading voice, John gasped her name. "'Lizabeth…"

The far door to Elizabeth's office, the door that led back to a transport, swished open and in stepped Dr. Carson Beckett, who quickly spotted Elizabeth alone on the ground. She stared in shock at the empty floor. "Elizabeth," he blurted. "What's going on? What are ye doin' down there?" he asked, fear and concern deepening his warm brogue.

Elizabeth looked up from where she crouched amid the tumult, begging tears not to flood her eyes. She knew by the heat on her cheeks she couldn't hide behind an emotionless mask this time. She put a hand to the floor where John had lain. Nothing lay there now except for the same Lantean floor that had rested there for eons—John Sheppard lost to the unknown of the Atlantis circuitry. Willing back the panic that threatened to crack her resolve, Elizabeth rose and quickly turned for the transport. "I need a med team standing by and ready to deploy within ten minutes," she ordered promptly before she dove through the door, leaving Carson the very picture of confusion.

"Elizabeth!"

oOo

Rodney, far too intent on the spastic readings he now received from the Lantean terminal, barely looked up as Elizabeth half stumbled into the Ancient control room that had been the scientist's home for several days. The terminals blared and fizzled wildly as systems all over the city suddenly blinked on and off. The whole city, it seemed, had suddenly experienced one massive surge of conflicting commands—like two people wrestling for control of the same steering wheel.

"What the hell is going on?" Elizabeth demanded. Rodney did not need to ask why she seemed so upset. A blind man could see could see it a mile away: she ached for the Colonel—always had and probably always would. _The lucky bastard_ , McKay sniffed, but meant no menace.

"I don't know!" replied the scientist, frantically dialing aging controls. "Everything was fine up until a few moments ago. It's like the city just went nuts or something—none of these readings are making any sense."

"Does it have anything to do with your repairs to the Atlantis program?" she asked in a way that begged him to snap his fingers and make it all go away. "Maybe you short-circuited something somewhere?"

The city shuddered, nearly knocking the two from their feet. Rodney grasped the control panel to steady himself while Elizabeth shifted her weight to keep her balance. Something shook the city to its core, and she dared not admit what she feared it was.

"No, no, no. It can't be." Rodney defended. "I haven't initialized anything yet. By all rights this should be happening," Rodney's eyes widened as a dark thought struck him. He looked up toward the smaller chamber that held the stasis chamber. "Unless…" he trailed off.

"Unless what?" Elizabeth asked, unsure if she wanted to know the answer herself.

"Sheppard," he whispered, grabbing his tablet PC off the control console then dashing for the door to the smaller chamber wherein lay the Colonel. Elizabeth followed on his heels, halting only when she caught sight of the stasis pod and the white clad figure attending it.

Atlantis—Anne—stood beside the Ancient pod calmly, almost lovingly, stroking the glass lid. Even as she did so, the rumbles in the city slowly calmed to dim roars, then dull whimpers, and then subsided all together. Stable light returned to the small chamber. Within the Lantean pod John still slept in peace, but Elizabeth knew that did not mean all was fine. Anne looked up as the two entered the room and Elizabeth could have sworn she saw tears in the woman's eyes.

"It is all right now, Dr. McKay, Dr. Weir," Anne soothed, stepping away from the colonel. "The city is fine, you need not worry."

The Canadian looked to the pod, fighting back a mist in his own eye. _Damn allergies._ He scolded himself. "What about…?" he began, looking to the pod, but could not bring himself to finish.

Anne straightened. "Colonel Sheppard's heart has failed him and in so doing caused great stress on his body, his conscious and, in turn, his link to the city. He has fallen into a coma," She explained calmly. "I had no choice but to forcibly severe his connection or he would have taken the city with him."

"Forcibly severe?" McKay blurted, panic rising in his tone. "Couldn't that cause brain damage?"

"Most definitely," Anne nodded. "But I had no choice. Doctor, we have no time to lose. Even now he begins to shut down—his heart falters, his mind wanes and his spirit loses the will to endure. Dr. McKay, we must act now while he still clings to hope or there may be nothing left of him to salvage."

"Yes, yes." Rushed the physicist, returning his attention to the tablet in his hands as the woman spoke. He tapped a few controls. Lights within the room flickered, and then seemed to brighten. "That should do it," he added, looking up cautiously.

Atlantis paused for a moment, eyes darting wildly as if reading a great volume of text. She breathed in sharply, like a swimmer returning from the depths of a great lake. A light smile touched her face and she closed her eyes, reveling in a waking sensation after centuries of slumber.

"Well?" Mckay prodded, unable to hide the worry in his voice. "How does it look?"

"Extensive damage still disrupts core of the medical sector," Atlantis informed flatly. Her soft smile began to fade. Elizabeth's heart sank with that smile. "Much of my former functionality still remains lost."

"Colonel Sheppard," Elizabeth questioned. "Can you still help Colonel Sheppard?"

Atlantis nodded slowly. "Yes, though chance does not favor him."

"Can we do better than three percent?" McKay asked, almost on the verge of begging. "He has to have better than three percent."

Surprised, Elizabeth looked to the acerbic scientist, but she had no voice to speak. _Is that what John had come to say? He had three chances in one hundred to live? Was that why he was so dead set on death?_

Atlantis looked to McKay before falling silent for a few moments, calculating the airman's chances. Elizabeth hoped that Rodney had bought them another miracle, another life, another chance. She listened breathlessly as Atlantis announced her answer.

"I believe he has a chance of one in twenty."

Silently, Elizabeth looked to the pod, watching as the colonel's skin seemed to pale before her. One in twenty. That meant one man in twenty would walk out of that room alive. She didn't have nineteen Sheppards to risk. _Heaven help me if I did_ , she though. But no, she had just the one. Just one would go under, and only one could return. But was the man laying there before her the one who could rise from the dead—again?


	12. Through the Branches

"One in twenty?" Rodney spat in disgust. "That's the best you can do?"

The blue eyes of Atlantis darkened in thought. She seemed neither happy nor eager to report her evaluation, but gave it none the less. "His systems, as well as my own, have been critically damaged, Dr. McKay. As it stands right now, a full recovery is quite unlikely, if not impossible." Atlantis looked to the Ancient pod. "Repairs to his heart alone will tax my processes to their limits." She had that calm, cool voice that doctors developed when they dealt with trauma patients. Atlantis sounded reassuring, though her news could have torn their world asunder. "I can promise you no more than one in twenty, but we must do it soon."

"Thank you, Anne," Elizabeth nodded, then corrected herself. " _Atlantis_ ," Somehow it seemed strange to call this being Atlantis, yet to call her Anne seemed just as odd. Deciding that had to be the _least_ of her worries, Elizabeth brushed away her thoughts, turning to the scientist at her side. "Rodney, we have to do this _now,_ " She instructed, no more eager than Atlantis to roll the dice with John's life.

Rodney shook his head. "No. No. Absolutely not," He stated firmly.

Shocked, Elizabeth had to pause a moment to ensure McKay had really said what she'd thought she heard. _He can't be serious, can he?_

"Rodney," Elizabeth insisted calmly, though anger ripped at her heart. "We don't have a choice. We do this now or John dies. I don't think I need to explain which option I favor."

Again, Rodney shook his head—more fervently this time. "No, not with those chances," He sputtered, glaring at the dark haired woman. "Maybe you're willing to take that kind of a risk with the colonel's life, but frankly, I think we owe him better than _one in twenty_!" Rodney clutched his tablet tight, as if to protect it from both the doctor and the city's holographic avatar. Atlantis looked on with a soft concern, if not stoic indifference, but Elizabeth's breaths grew quick with frustration.

Elizabeth raised a sharp brow. "Are you saying you have a better idea?"

"No… Not exactly," the scientist relented, his eyes falling at his own admission. He stared at the pale face within the stasis pod, searching for some last shred of hope.

"Then we have to try this, Rodney," Elizabeth pressed, tightening the grip on her sorrow and remorse. She put a reassuring hand on Rodney's shoulder. "I don't like it, but it's our only option."

"We go through with this and it's no better than killing him," Rodney insisted, pulling away from her touch. "I won't take that chance with Sheppard's life—I have enough on my conscience already! You want to kill him, go right ahead, but I am _not_ helping!"

Elizabeth stamped her foot in frustration. "Rodney!"

The calming voice of Atlantis washed over Elizabeth's cry. "Dr. McKay, there is no other way. Without extensive repair to the damaged portions of this sector, there is simply no way this city can exact the repairs needed to revive the colonel."

The flickers of anger in McKay's eyes gave way to the solemn gaze of despair. For a moment the room fell faint as McKay took in the city's words. Then the glint in his eye changed. "Wait a minute," he whispered, eyes brightening as he whispered her words to himself. "Extensive repair…?"

"Rodney?" Elizabeth questioned as the scientist again fell silent.

The man looked up to meet her concern with a look of wordless surprise. He spoke quickly, with a slight tint of awe, as if a sudden realization had only just now dawned on him. The light returned to his eyes, flickering with understanding. "Atlantis said she can't heal him because the city itself is far too damaged, right?"

"Yes, Rodney." Elizabeth's voice grew almost patronizing. "And the city can't be fixed without the _Daedalus_ , which—even if we could notify them—is still over a week away. We've been over this before."

"Right…" the scientist's voice faded as he lost himself in thought. "My god," he whispered. "How could I have been so stupid? Why didn't I see this before?"

Elizabeth took a step toward the scientist, her voice growing forceful. He was on to something. "Rodney, can you or can you not fix the city?"

"It's not a question of if I can or cannot, it's a question of time—time that I don't have right now. But that's not my point," he replied, turning an intent gaze on the white figure of Atlantis. He seemed to all but ignore the other woman. "Anne… Atlantis… whatever… You said you can heal him?"

The woman nodded slowly, almost unsurely. She had, after all, just explained their situation. "The chances of a full recovery are quite slim, doctor…"

"You said _full_ recovery," McKay interrupted, lifting a finger. "What about a _partial_ recovery?"

The A.I. looked at him in confusion. "I do not understand."

"What if you just, I don't know, patched him up? We don't need him dancing in the streets, just enough to keep him stable for a few more hours."

"He is still very, very weak," The woman shook her head slowly. "A _partial_ recovery, while assured success, could only sustain him for so long. Even with your medical technologies, he would still die."

Rodney brushed her words away with the wave of her hand, his gaze still fixed on her bright form. "But you _can_ do it? I only need a half hour, maybe an hour of viability without the pod," his pleading rang with a genuine air of concern and desperation.

"It is possible…" She conceded. "He could breathe again, but he would experience great pain. I could extend his life another hour, perhaps even another day if he continues stasis, though he would remain comatose either way."

Again, McKay brushed off her words, pulling the tablet from the crook of his arm. "Yeah yeah, no problem. Less chance he'll have to talk me out of it," he quipped, "Either way, we're doing this." Rodney busied himself tapping away at the computer screen, commanding a half a dozen programs to his will before a wide-eyed Elizabeth nearly grabbed the scientist by the neck.

"Rodney, exactly _what_ are we doing?"

"Trying to keep the Colonel alive," he snarled. "What does it look like?"

Elizabeth breathed slowly, trying to calm herself. "I know this is going to sound harsh, but what good is buying another hour if it will only cause him more pain? What can we honestly do in an hour that will change anything? I don't want to let him go any more than you do, but maybe we should start thinking about what's best in the long run… What's _merciful_."

Annoyed, McKay barely lifted his eyes from the tablet as he explained himself to Weir. "This entire time we've been working on the assumption that we have to bring the technology to the colonel—but what if we brought the colonel to the technology?"

For a moment of sheer surprise, Elizabeth had nothing to say. Regaining control of her voice, she whispered, "You mean the sister city we found on…"

"Exactly," McKay nodded, again tapping away at the smooth screen. "I've spent more than enough time looking over the layout. I can't say their medical sector is in better repair than ours, but give me Zelenka, and army of our best scientists and the pod and I promise you we will give him better than _one in twenty_."

"What about respecting his last wishes?" Elizabeth asked, more with subtle sarcasm than true dissent.

"Oh please," the Canadian rolled his eyes. "Do you really think I'm gonna let him waste away just because he wants to play Mr. Martyr? Who does he think he is? Obi-Wan Kenobi?"

Elizabeth almost laughed at the sudden shift from calm resignation to spirited retaliation the scientist showed. Rodney could have done nothing against John's wishes while the colonel remained in command of the city, but the colonel could no longer control the city while he lay in a coma—much lest severed from his neural link. _If he lives through this, he'll be pissed as hell_. She winked, "Let's just make sure he's around to exact his revenge, shall we?"

"I'm on it," Rodney rushed, turning again to the A.I. avatar. "Atlantis, can you write an executable program to command the alternate city's…"

Atlantis smiled. "It is already done."

"…Oh." McKay stared blankly for a second, the wind blown from his sails. His tablet chirped cheerily, announcing the program's arrival. "…Thanks." He added after a moment, then turned back to Dr. Weir, listing his other necessary supplies as he worked the computer. "I'll need Zelenka and his team in the Gate Room ready to go. I'll need Carson standing by just in case, and we need someone on the radio to warn the natives we're coming-"

"And you'll need us," rumbled a deep, masculine voice. Both the scientist and the city leader whirled to find the Runner and their Athosian companion standing at the door. Ronon blocked the doorway with his giant form, his arms crossed in stoic sentry. Beside him, Teyla looked almost fragile, though the machine gun strapped to her sturdy frame proved her no less dangerous. They each looked undeniably displeased.

"Teyla, Ronon!" Elizabeth fumbled for words. "How did you…?"

"Dr. Kavanaugh told us what happened in the morgue," the other woman explained. "How he stumbled upon Dr. McKay tampering with the pods."

Ronon shifted his arms. "When we noticed the morgue was missing a pod, we knew something was up."

"When the shudders started, Dr. Zelenka's team identified this sector as the source of the disturbances. We have tried to access this area for a while, but only just now made it through the bulkheads. From there we were guided by your voices," Teyla stepped forward into the chamber, her eyes fixed on the pod. She had a far-off look in her eye and her voice turned wistfully soft. "Is that really… him?"

Elizabeth nodded. "I'm sorry we kept this from you, Teyla. Believe me, it wasn't our choice."

Teyla nodded in a way that said she accepted the apology for now, though she not yet understand or comprehend the scene before her. "We suspected Dr. McKay had found something, but without the body, we dared not hope…"

"What do you mean without the body?" McKay asked, confusion in his tone. "You guys had a funeral service and didn't notice the body was missing?"

Teyla tilted her head, as if correcting the scientist. "Dr. Beckett alone tended the body. He claims he clearly remembers not only performing and autopsy on the body, but placing the colonel in his coffin long before the ceremony."

"What?" McKay's face contorted as he tried to sort out some sort of conflict in his head. "He was still in the stasis pod when I found him…" he trailed off, eyes widening. "…Unless Carson's been in on it the whole time!"

The white clad woman shook her head, frowning at Rodney's assertion. "I assure you, Dr. McKay, Carson Beckett has no knowledge of Colonel Sheppard's existence."

"Who is that?" Ronon asked, motioning to Atlantis. Teyla, too, gazed at her in curiosity. Neither had ever seen such a woman.

"Really smart computer program," Rodney replied without a thought. The city's response confused the scientist. He just could not understand how both stories could be true.

At that moment, something caught Elizabeth's memory, something Atlantis had said just after they had met. She had said she could _sense another._ That had to be it. Elizabeth brightened, "But he _does_ have the Gene," she added.

Confused, Teyla looked between the scientist and the older woman. "What difference does that make?"

Catching on, Rodney snapped his fingers. "It means the city could connect with his mind the same way it can connect with Sheppard. Carson only _thinks_ he remembers—he probably dreamed the whole thing!"

Atlantis agreed with a knowing smile. "In that, you are correct, Dr. McKay."

"I still do not understand," Teyla stated, looking for an explanation. Ronon, too, seemed dumbfounded by the conversation.

"I'd love to fill you in," Rodney hastily continued, suddenly remembering the urgency of their situation. "But we really don't have the time to explain it all, right now. We need to get him out of here, and fast!" Rodney pointed to the colonel. "Right after we disengage the ZedPM," Rodney tacked on, almost as an afterthought.

"The ZPM?" Elizabeth blurted, wheeling around on the scientist. "That'll leave the city open to attack!"

"It's either the ZedPM or Colonel Sheppard, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth considered for but a moment, and then sighed deeply. "Alright, Rodney. You can have it, just get to work!" Elizabeth wondered how she was going to explain all this to her team, much less her superiors. _Sheppard can come back from the dead if we just loan McKay the ZPM for a while. Yeah. That'll fly._ "I'll see about coordinating this whole crazy plan."

"Right, right. But first we have to buy him the time we need," McKay tapped a final few commands into his tablet. He looked up hesitantly, eyes trained on the stasis pod. "Here goes."

The white clad woman nodded determinedly before she winked into nothingness. Elizabeth, Rodney, Teyla and Ronon looked on as lights within the stasis pod danced across the colonel's features—brightening, flickering, fading, then brightening again. His eyes flitted, jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared with a sudden sharp intake of air. John's back arched against the bed, teeth gritting as he let out a great, gut-wrenching cry the likes of which Elizabeth had not heard since their first encounter with the Iratus bug. Elizabeth flinched. It hurt no less to hear the second time around.

_Hold on, John!_ She urged. _Just a little longer and we'll get you out of this. Just hold on!_

The terrible cry faded into silence as mercy took the colonel. Again he fell into the pale stillness of slumber, but no white clad figure appeared to tell them all was right with the airman.

"What was that…?" Teyla whispered, awestruck at having seen a dead man suddenly scream from his grave.

"The stasis just kicked in," Rodney informed, glancing at his tablet. "He's good to go," he said as he moved to the front of the pod. Rodney motioned to the others to help with the other side. "Help me get this thing out to the transport. We can make the calls on the way," For the first time, Weir realized the pod utilized anti-gravity technology. Rodney merely pressed a few buttons on the side panel and the pod eased itself into the air. That at least explained how he could have carted the man down all the way from the morgue—a chore even with the instant transporters.

Elizabeth looked away from the sleeping man long enough to catch McKay's eye. "I sure hope you know what you're doing."

"So do I," he replied.

oOo

All motion within the Gaterium came to a halt as the two senior officers and two faithful warriors escorted a hovering stasis pod out of a transport and into the light of the active Stargate, Elizabeth shooting orders over her personal radio. Among the personnel assembled in the Gaterium stood a unit of Marines, headed by Major Lorne, who all stared with rapt attention. Zelenka's team filed in behind, straining to see what all the fuss was about. Carson's team, a medical unit already dressed and packed for a mission off world, nearly dropped their collective belongings at the sight.

Colonel Sheppard lay before them, as if asleep, attended by the last four people in the world anyone thought would keep his life a guarded secret.

Carson, above all, turned several shades of pale before he finally regained the will to speak. "Good Lord, Elizabeth. Is that really…?"

"Yes." Rodney interrupted ending questioning with one word. "We'll explain on the way, but right _this_ ," he pointed to the pod. "Needs to go through _that_ ," he pointed to the gate. "Sooner rather than later. We don't know how much time we have." More than a few befuddled looks passed between the assembled personnel. Despite the sheer oddity of their jobs, none had quite seen a man come back from the dead just yet, but it did not take the large team long to fall into step behind the obstinate scientist. "Now! Thank you!" McKay snarled at he pulled the pod toward the gate. Lorne's team hiked up toward the standing puddle, leading the way for the medical team and their precious pod. Elizabeth kept pace right up to the Stargate.

Rodney glanced at her over the pod, nodding as if to send her on her way. "It's okay, Elizabeth. We can take it from here."

"They're going to be just as confused as our people," Elizabeth defended. "Besides that, they'll want to negotiate terms. I'm going."

"We'll be leaving a void in Atlantis command-"

"I'm going, Rodney. End of story." She snapped, and then followed the pod through the glittering warble.


	13. Chapter 13

It didn't surprise Elizabeth that some of the society's previous ruling class still remained in some form of power in the absence of the Protectorate. While Sheppard's team had thrown the planet's government system on its ear, Elizabeth did not think the ensuing revolution was as bitter and bloody as the now ex-nobles would have her believe. The villagers seemed a kind, compassionate people—people of tradition who did not idly throw aside their old ways. What shouldn't have surprised her was the sharp, shrill cry that echoed through the duplicate Gatetrium when her team wheeled in the battered body of John Sheppard. The colonel definitely had friends among the new ruling class—after all, John's team had inspired them to the very revolt that now empowered them. She just hadn't expected that he still had—how had McKay put it? _Girlfriends in high places?_ Still, before Elizabeth could even sputter a rushed greeting, a woman with blonde curls and teary brown eyes scuttled away from the assembled confusion to stand at John's side.

At first, Elizabeth suspected the new ruling class of villagers, now led by Eldred and several other village elders, had let the woman remain on the sheer basis of her radiant looks. However, after spending time in the young woman's company, Elizabeth discovered Mara to be quite the kind, sociable young lady—if a little frail and wimpy at times. Whether this was her natural disposition or a result of her sudden social upheaval Elizabeth did not know, but Mara tended faithfully to the team's every whim, especially in matters directly concerning the colonel.

In fact, she and her people were more than willing to assist in the desperate struggle for the colonel's life. Most knew little to nothing of the city's capabilities—only what their history books had recorded of their former Lord Protectors. Without a charged ZPM, much of the technology that had made the Lord Protectors so feared and respected now lay dormant and silent. Even then, most of the inhabitants of Atlantis' sister city cared more about farming than Ancient technology. Some took it as a learning experience, working side by side with McKay, Zelenka, and the rest of the scientific team, but most stood back and marveled at the magic the scientists called forth from the ruins of the Ancestors.

On the other hand, convincing the Lantean team that they were not living out some morbid dream took a little doing. Carson, his rich brogue thickened with nervous confusion, spent the first few hours muttering to himself in utter shock. His medical team wanted nothing more than to rip open the Ancient stasis pod and wrap the colonel head to toe in balm and medical gauze. It took all of Elizabeth's skills to convince them to wait it out, that the stasis pod kept him in better health than their comparatively primitive means. Elizabeth understood their frustration—knowing their own medical technologies fell far short of the Lanteans' did not easily combat the instinct to do something, _anything_ , to help their comrade. Watching the science team take charge of a medical situation, namely hooking up the stasis pod to the ailing city, was an exercise in anxiety for the medical team. For the most part, Carson's medical team waited on the sidelines as McKay and Zelenka strove to breathe life into the buried city.

The scientific team, in contrast, had their hands full just trying to get the city up and running again. Between centuries of dust, clutter, cobwebs and the eons without the protection of an energy shield, much of the city had fallen to the unrelenting siege of time. More than once, Rodney doubted his wisdom in dragging them all so far away from home. He never admitted these feelings—certainly not in front of his team—but Elizabeth had learned to sense the scientist better than most. Yet she still chose to believe in him and his skills and his will. When she learned of the rampant earthquakes that plagued the depths of the city, she chose to believe in him. When no wise Ancient artificial intelligence could be raised through the city's central command, she chose to believe in him. When Rodney's team expressed concern that their own lack of understanding of the intricate medical technology could damn the colonel as easily as it could free him, she still chose to believe in him. When Rodney told her he had to pull the colonel out of stasis in order to revive him, she had no choice but to believe in him.

When John's vital signs plummeted shortly thereafter, she had nothing else left to believe in, except that hers was the best team in two galaxies. Rodney's team worked tirelessly into the night. Night turned to day and day turned to night—the airman never waking from his silent rest.

None of his team gave up hope for an instant. Even when duty called them back to Atlantis, dedication drew them back to the colonel's vigil below their sister city. Elizabeth always found the man in good company—Teyla, Ronon, Mara and a small host of the Lantean military took shifts at his side. Many even took to sleeping in makeshift cots and stretchers set up around the colonel's chamber. Out of some unspoken respect, Elizabeth was always granted the spot nearest the slumbering pilot. Tonight, she curled herself up in a large wooden chair that could have been a small throne at some point in its life, nodding between the conscious world and the world of blurred dreams. Her chair felt a little stiff and uncomfortable to sleep in, but the plush velvet seat beat the hell out of the little wooden stools the natives provided and the soft blanket around her shoulders kept the chilly night away. A subtle rumbling pulled her upright from the grips of sleep. Looking off across the room, she noted McKay and Zelenka slumped shoulder to shoulder, both unconscious and McKay snoring every so often. The woman held back a tired giggle. She wished she had a camera.

Sighing softly, Elizabeth shifted in her chair, trying to find a less uncomfortable position. As she adjusted the blanket about her shoulders, she caught a slight movement out of the corner of her eye and, stunned, turned her eyes on the Ancient pod. Had something moved, or was her frazzled mind playing tricks on her? Elizabeth waited in the still of the night, watching the pod like a hawk.

Moments passed and John's face twitched at the corner of his eye. His shallow breathing startled, interrupted for a moment, and then returned after a coarse cough. The capsule deafened most of the sound, but the coughing could have been a hail of trumpets for all Elizabeth cared—it was the first sign of life she had seen from him since they had left Atlantis. Suddenly forgetting all inklings of sleep, the woman threw back her blankets and rushed to the pod. Dark, searing wounds still scarred his form but already they bore the pinkish tinge of mending flesh. Dark lashes parted and hazel eyes again dawned on the waking world. She tried to say something encouraging, but managed only a wide smile with trembling lips. Warm tears trickled down her face, but these were good tears, tears of joy after rivers of heartache. Elizabeth placed a hand on glass, unable to speak.

Slowly, rough hewn hands lifted from Sheppard's side to meet hers, nothing but a half inch of glass between them. "Liz…a…beth..."

She saw more than heard his whisper, but her reply mattered little. Another precious moment passed and he left again, pulled back behind the veil of slumber. He did not wake again that night, but it was all Elizabeth needed to breathe easier from that moment on.

oOo

Time wandered on and Elizabeth found herself more at ease with the new city, with its people. She often found herself enjoying the other city's vista alone almost as often as she sat with the others at John's bedside. He grew stronger every day. He no longer needed the pod to sustain his life—he could eat and breathe on his own now—and Carson felt confident what wounds remained would heal in their own in time. Life could begin again.

She had discovered the balcony shortly after that sleepless night beside his capsule. Now well into the spring season, the land sprawled out before her in shades of vibrant green. Elizabeth found it oddly refreshing to stand on that balcony and survey not the ripples of endless water, but an ocean of swaying branches and swirling drifts of chirping birds. The sun rose over the distant horizon, painting the sky with shades of miracles. It felt both new and strangely familiar. While she knew her team had to soon depart, she felt somehow loathe to leave all this.

The door to her back swished open softly and the sound of heavy boots alerted her to an airman's presence.

"Everyone is just about packed up," Lorne stated. "There was an incident off-world, some of our allies on M24-797 are requesting aide. I need to get back to the city right away."

"Why, what happened?"

"A Culling, ma'am," Lorned replied, then added a soft, "on 895." His eyes dropped as he explained. "Some of the inhabitants escaped to 797, but now they're causing trouble. It doesn't surprise me, really. Isolationist types don't usually play well with others. Still, I guess the sad part is they might have been okay if they hadn't already set their land ablaze. The firestorm might have covered their tracks in a Culling… but who's to say, really…"

"Thank you, Major," she said, dismissing him, but called to him again as he turned to leave. "Major, have we heard anything from Atlantis," Elizabeth asked, and at the major's confused look added, "I mean, _Atlantis._ McKay's program?"

Understanding now, Lorne shook his head in remorse. "The science team we sent down found some blown circuits in the lab McKay was working in. If there was an artificial intelligence stored in that control cluster, they'll have a heck of a time setting it up again."

Elizabeth frowned. _Atlantis did say it would tax her processes, but would she sacrifice herself to save John?_ "Thank you, Major." She nodded, sending the airman on his way. "I still have a few things to wrap up here. These people have been more than kind to us, I want to make sure we give them proper recompense."

"Alright, Ma'am," He grinned boyishly. "We'll keep the light on for you."

Elizabeth slipped him a modest smile before the Major turned and disappeared back into the city. The woman again looked over the sprawling landscape, envisioning where each spire used to stand. She wasn't sure if she wanted to cry or laugh. It felt like an age of slow torture had ended as her tired team readied to depart for home. On the bright side, the ordeal had strengthened their friendship with their new allies, though she'd wished the treaty could have been tested on happier grounds. Still, she breathed in a deep sigh of chilly spring air and breathed out all the emptiness, worry, and anxiety that had twisted her nerves for the last few weeks. A strong breeze took her by surprise and Elizabeth bristled. She had left her jacket inside with the rest of her things and shivered involuntarily at its chilly touch.

She hadn't heard the door open, but knew she wasn't alone when she felt warmth encircle her. Someone wrapped a jacket over her slender shoulders. Elizabeth pulled it close, drowning in the heavy grey and black. She did not waver as John leaned on the rail beside her.

Elizabeth looked up to meet a flawless smile and, for the first time in a long time, actually chuckled. "You gave us quite a scare back there."

John scratched his ear. "I gave _myself_ quite a scare," he replied, looking out over the rustling trees. "I mean, I spent my life fighting to stay alive, but part of being a good soldier is coming to terms with your own mortality," he paused for a time. "You could say I've already been there and done that, but it doesn't get easier."

"There's nothing wrong with holding onto the world, John," she soothed.

"The world?" the colonel questioned, raising a brow. "All this destruction, war, disease, chaos—who needs it?" He shook his head as he stared out over the rustling branches. "Nah. It wasn't the world I was holding on to."

Elizabeth cocked her head toward him. "Then what kept you?" She asked softly.

John gave her a puppy-like pout that held just a hint of deviousness. "I didn't get my five minutes."

"Oh really?" Elizabeth stuck her tongue firmly in check. "And what did you have to say that was so important?"

Cautiously, John looked around, as if to ensure no one was listening. He leaned toward her, dropping his voice so low she had to lean in to hear him. He waited for perfect silence to speak again. "First, I have to ask you something."

Elizabeth straightened, rolling her eyes in mock annoyance.

John continued in his normal, almost joking tone. "I shared a neural link with the city, but it wasn't exactly a fifty-fifty deal. I actually can't remember a whole lot of what went on outside of—how should I say?—my _conscious being_? Anyway, there was something about Atlantis invading your dreams or something?"

"Oh… That." For some reason, Elizabeth felt the urge to blush. "She was just trying to communicate with me," the woman explained quickly. "I guess she just couldn't talk to me like she could to you."

John searched her with his voice, sounding skeptical. "So, it was no big thing? She didn't, you know, put you through any _undue stress_ or rewire your brain funny or anything?"

"Nope. I'm perfectly fine," she insisted.

"You're okay? You're sure?" John tested.

"Scout's honor."

"Good," John smiled, almost nervously, as he shifted his weight into hers. "Or else this would have been really awkward." The breeze blew Elizabeth's hair back as John leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. Ripples of ecstasy ravaged her senses as she suddenly discovered every blessed muscle in the man's tongue. Surprised, she let his sweet warmth flow into her for a time, until shock and civility forced her to pull back from his embrace.

"John," she blurted, restraining her voice to a harsh, driving whisper. "We can't-"

"Do this?" He finished. "Of course we can't, not right now. I just couldn't have you thinking I'm a lousy kisser." He strode forward, again taking her into a close embrace. He spoke in hushed tones, his warm breath on her cheek. "You and I are going to go back to Atlantis like nothing happened. I'll go back to kicking Wraith ass, you'll go back to making Kavanaugh cry himself to sleep. We'll sweep it under the carpet, just like we've always done. But you listen to me! Someday, we are going to turn this galaxy upside down. We are going to put an end to the Wraith, once and for all. I will bring you the heads of every Hive Queen in this galaxy if I have to, but your city will be safe. You have my word, Elizabeth."

"And then what?" Elizabeth asked in jest, her stubborn conscience refusing to play to the colonel's delusions, no matter how wonderful they were starting to sound.

He took her chin in his hand, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Then you will have to hire a personal army if you think anything is going to keep me away from you."

"John!" she hissed softly. There could be no 'we'. Ever. Rules and responsibilities would keep them apart. The Wraith would keep them apart. She had already accepted that when he rose from the pod.

John took a pained step back, pulling himself away like he was tearing the Earth from its moon. "But until that day, I'll bide my time."

She sighed, still unsure if she should even be having this conversation. "Doing what?"

"Sleeping in freezing ice water, more than likely," he replied.

"John!" she barked, though something within her wanted to wrap her arms around him and never let go. _I hate it when he does that,_ she hissed inwardly. _This is serious!_ She wanted to wring his neck and nibble on it all at the same time.

_No._ She admitted to herself. _I love every minute of it._

"Do you want an all out confession? Is that what you want?" the colonel questioned at her resistance. He strode forward, again invading her personal space with his seething intensity. "Well here it is—Elizabeth, I love you—at your side, from afar, or even in the distance. I will always love you."

"John!" This had gone on long enough. She couldn't bear to hear another word. She had to shut him up.

"What else is there to say?" he questioned again, confusion in his tone. He made a list, ticking off the items on his fingers. "I've promised to slay the bad guys, help the disenfranchised _and_ spit out some of the most frightening things a guy could ever say, what more-"

Elizabeth slipped an arm around his and pulled him toward her, their lips catching each other once again. This time several soul-mending minutes passed before the two pulled apart, both breathing heavy when the embrace finally broke. Never before had she felt such a shockwave of desire pulse through her being.

"You know," John panted, their breaths tickling each other. "I'm technically on medical leave until Beckett's clears me for the whole coming-back-from-the-dead thing. I think I'm looking at a good two weeks vacation coming up…" He gave her a coy smile. "Think we could accidentally drop their gate into a lava flow or something?"

The sun cleared the distant horizon and day returned at last to the tattered city. Elizabeth slipped back into her business demeanor. "You have ten minutes before I'm supposed to meet with Eldred and the Council, Colonel," she stated coolly. "Make 'em count."

Sheppard smirked. "Yes, ma'am."

oOo

Elizabeth let Carson and Rodney flank the colonel when they lined up to return through the Stargate at the edge of the village settlement. Teyla and Ronon had insisted on leaving with Lorne's group, after having been thanked profusely for their roles in helping the villagers throw off their shackles of slavery. The woman figured the two were tired of the hero worship and just needed to get back on familiar soil. Elizabeth didn't mind, the last few days on this planet had been pleasant enough, but she wanted to go home and so did her team. A few of the villagers-turned-scientists called chipper farewells, to which Rodney muttered something uncivilized under his breath. A heavy-hearted Mara stepped from the crowd to give John a parting kiss goodbye. Elizabeth felt relieved when John turned and the woman's lips met his cheek, not his mouth. She smiled as the raging bubbles of the forming wormhole slurped back into a waiting pool of sparkling blue and John pulled away from Mara's pleading eyes. The team waved their final goodbyes to the others gathered under the bright sunlight of day.

"Well," Rodney sighed, adjusting the straps on his backpack as the group started forward. "Are you ready to go home, Colonel?"

"I'd say I've had my fill of near-death experiences for the week."

"Good, because according to my calculations, you owe me at least three 'Escape Certain Death, Free' cards. If I have to do something like this again, I'll have to charge a fee."

John laughed and slipped through the Stargate. Rodney paused, staring at the event horizon. "I'm serious," he added, before stepping through himself. Shaking her head to hold back a laugh, Elizabeth followed.

When, moments later, Elizabeth materialized in the bright of the Atlantis Gatetrium, she had to stop and stand in silent awe. She had expected something of a greeting party to meet the colonel at the Gate, but she had not expected the crowed that sprawled out before her. Assemebled with in the Gaterium stood nearly as many souls as had attended the man's funeral; though, surprisingly, they seemed in no higher spirits than they were then. Pushed close, shoulder to shoulder, the eyes of the scientists, soldiers, airman and all other members of the Expedition glowered on the dark haired colonel. At the head of the crowd stood Teyla and Ronon, each bearing an expression of sincere disdain.

Clearly thrown off by the dismal greeting, John tried to reconcile with a shaky greeting. "Hey… guys…?"

Frowning, Teyla and Ronon stepped forward, hands held firmly behind their backs. Even Elizabeth's brow furrowed in concern, wondering what could possibly have gone wrong after all they had been through.

"Colonel Sheppard," Teyla began coldly, as if speaking for the whole of the room. "We have told everyone what you have done," she said, motioning with her head to the assembled crowd. The collective mood seemed to darken in judgment. "How you intended to let yourself wither away without giving your friends a chance to help you."

Biting his lip, John took the words like a prick to the heart. "Look, Teyla," he tried to defend. "I'm sorry—I really am—but you have to understand…"

The woman cut him off without listening to his argument. "We have all discussed this and have decided on your punishment."

John startled. "My _punishment_?"

Still confused, Elizabeth and Rodney looked to each other before locking eyes with the Athosian. Elizabeth caught just a hint of a smile on the woman's lip.

"I believe you call it payback," she replied then, with a silent nod to the crowd, pulled her arms from behind her back. Ronon did the same, drawing out a curious metal cylinder. Elizabeth recognized it in a heartbeat, but a heartbeat too late to avoid what came next. John winced instinctively, but nothing could save him from the spray off icky goo that sprouted from the canister.

Elizabeth tried to back out of the line of fire, but to her light-hearted horror, no less than thirty of her top knotch science team members raised similar cans in her direction. "You too, Dr. Weir!" they shouted with smiles, and then let fly sticky strings of vibrant color. Within moments, Elizabeth, Rodney, Carson and John were buried in an inescapable web of bright, sticky goo. Rodney flailed about to the cheers and laughs of the science team, trying to rip the soft stuff from his person, but the stuff only clung to him harder. Laughter and shouts erupted from the crowd and their attackers turned their toys on other prey. Suddenly, sticky shoots burst into the air, from all directions, coating the assembly like neon spiderwebs.

"What the hell?" Rodney blurted from beneath a pile of pink mush, vainly attempting to wipe the bright webs out of his hair. "Where did all this come from?"

"The arms locker," John gasped between laughs as Teyla and Ronon emptied their cans.

"The _arms locker?_ What does the military need with sixty cans of silly string?"

John scraped a tangle of glop from his eyes, the roots of which clung determinedly to the ruffles of his hair. Having taken the brunt of the attack, John stood piled in the stuff, "Helps when checking for trip wires." Elizabeth thought he almost resembled some sort of regal swamp monster, with a cloak of bright goo woven of every color. She couldn't help laughing at him, long and hard. The colonel turned to her and, finding the sight of her just as hilarious, turned red with raucous, uncontrolled laughter.

Even Carson, the innocent bystander caught in the mayhem, chuckled at the wild frivolity. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the one solemn face in the whole crowd. Above the cheering, above the gleeful abandon, Dr. Kavanaugh stood on a balcony overlooking the triumphant return, his face shocked pale. The medical doctor leaned toward John as the colonel tried to shake off the robes of sticky string.

"I don't suppose they made a drink strong enough to put the rose back in his cheeks," Carson smiled.

John smiled through the layers of stickiness as those gathered in the Gaterium cheered for the return of their friend and commander, and for the moment's bright respite from the desperation of their time. He leaned in too, shouting to be heard above the commotion. "If the ocean was whiskey, Carson."

The Scotsman threw his head back and laughed.


End file.
